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To
the right honourable
the baroness Howe.
It would be a sufficient reason for sanctioning this work with your Ladyship’s name, that it is an offering of gratitude, presented because there is nothing worthier to give.
But there is another cause. He who celebrates a patriot, cannot address himself to any one more properly than to the daughter of a patriot; of one who was for years the naval sun of England, and from whom the young and enterprising caught the unextinguishable rays of patriotism and courage.
For actions and glory such as his, the female mind is not formed; but in the calm and active virtues of private life, which are almost equally honourable to the possessor, your Ladyship maintains the dignity of your race. I call to witness those whom you have soothed in affliction, and those whom you have honoured with your friendship. They will vindicate me from the charge of flattery, and support my assertion, that your patronage is as glorious to me, as any I could possibly have chosen.
With the hope, that the virtues of your excellent daughter, and your son, whom I am proud to call my friend, may answer your fullest expectations,
I remain,
Your Ladyship’s
Most obliged
And devoted Servant,
W.S.
Walker.
As the author of these Poems is only seventeen, some apology may be required for offering them to the public.
Many precedents may be quoted in favour of early publication; and the practice perhaps is not in itself blameable, except when the advice of good judges is unasked, or the work itself uncorrected and negligent. To neither of these charges is the author liable. These poems, as well as the design of publishing them, have been approved of by many sincere and judicious friends; and the work has been altered in many parts, in conformity to the advice of the same persons. The author has made no improper sacrifice to the Muse: he has deserted no duty, and neglected no necessary employment. Influenced by these motives, he appears before the bar of criticism, not indeed without diffidence, but unconscious of having deserved censure. If his verses are bad, he is content to sink into oblivion; and if the public confirms the favourable judgment of his friends, he does not deny that it will give him real satisfaction.—He is sensible, that if he delayed till time had matured his judgment, and reflection perfected his ideas, the “scribendi cacoethes,” perhaps an unfortunate inclination, would take a firm and unalterable possession of his mind. He is therefore determined to try the public opinion; that he may be enabled either to pursue his poetical studies under their encouragement, or to desist in time from an useless employment. This
“Gustavus Vasa” was originally planned (the reader will smile) at eleven years of age. When the author began to know what poetry was, his first design was to write an epic poem—no matter of what sort or character, so it was an epic poem. The subject was soon chosen; and the progress of the work was various: sometimes hurried on with all the ardour of hope and enterprize, sometimes relinquished for more lively pursuits, and left to sleep for months in the leaves of a portfolio. In this manner were six long cantos completed. At length the author, in his thirteenth year, perceived numerous faults and extravagances in his early composition. He destroyed the manuscript: and some time after recommenced his poem on a new and more rational plan. Accordingly, the first and part of the second book, were written in 1810, and the rest of the work which is published in this volume, principally in 1812. All that is yet completed of this production (except the sequel of the fourth book, and the whole fifth, which are yet uncorrected) is here presented to the public; and on its success the continuation of “Gustavus Vasa” depends.
It was designed to embrace the whole actions of the hero, from his first signalizing himself under Steen Sture, to his death in 1560; but as all this could not be regularly related without destroying the unity of the poem, it was thought most convenient to begin with his introduction among the Dalecarlians at Mora, and conclude with his first election to the royalty, in 1523; the rest being introduced by means of narration, anticipation, and episode.
It will be doubtless objected, that the enterprize is beyond his powers, and that he acted rashly in undertaking it. But this is no light scheme; no work, begun for want of other amusement, and deserted when a more specious or pleasing subject for poetry presented itself. He has considered it seriously; the subject appears full of poetical capabilities, and superior to many others which offered themselves; and if the opinion of the world coincides with his own in this point, he has resolved to make it the favourite employment of his maturer years, and to reduce it as far as possible to perfection. Part of his plan for continuing the poem, will be found in the Notes.
The smaller pieces are selected from a large number of original compositions; they are not chosen as his favourites, but as what he esteems most faultless. This appeared the safer method; since it is impossible that “the flimsy productions of a youth of seventeen,” as Kirke White expresses it, should be free from considerable errors; and we are apt to think our most irregular flights, our most vigorous ones. On these pieces, however, he places little stress; his principal reliance is on “Gustavus Vasa.” The Latin Poems have been honoured by the approbation of different Masters at Eton.
The Author may be accused of arrogance in saying too much of himself. But he felt strongly that early publication, and the design of writing a long epic poem, would naturally be censured by many well-meaning persons; he thought it his duty to state his motives; and was less solicitous to avoid the possible charge of self-conceit, than the certain one of folly and presumption.
Any resemblance to former writers, which may occur in the course of the work, are generally unintentional. Thus the lines—
“Touch’d the abyss,
and, lest his eyes might view
The abandon’d shore,
into its depths withdrew,”
were written before the author had seen Persius’s description of a totally abandoned man:
—nescit quid perdat,
et, alto
Demersus, summa rursus non
bullit in unda.
The Author has to express his sincere gratitude for a numerous and respectable list of Subscribers. It is far beyond his expectations; and it encourages his hope, that the reception of the present volume will authorize his continuing in the same pursuit.
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Gustavus Vasa.
State of Sweden at the commencement of the Poem—A Council—Trollio—Bernheim—Ernestus—Christiern proposes the reduction of Dalecarlia—Ernestus opposes him, is committed to prison—Christiern takes his measures to oppose a rebellion just arisen in Denmark.
Gustavus Vasa,
A POEM.
The Swede I sing, by Heaven
ordain’d to save
His country’s glories
from a Danish grave,
Restore her laws, her Papal
rites efface,
And fix her freedom on a lasting
base.
Celestial Liberty!
by whom impell’d
From early youth fair honour’s
path he held;
By whose strong aid his patient
courage rose
Superior to the rushing tide
of woes,
And at whose feet, when Heaven
his toils repaid,
His brightest wreaths the
grateful hero laid:
Me too assist; with thy inspiring
beam
Aid my weak powers, and bless
my rising theme!
Stockholm to Christiern
bow’d her captive head; }
By Treachery’s axe her
slaughter’d senate bled, }
And her brave chief was numbered
with the dead. }
Piled with her breathless
sons, th’ uncultured land
With daily ravage fed a wasteful
band;
And ruthless Christiern, wheresoe’er
be flew,
Around his steps a track of
crimson drew.
Already, by Heaven’s
dark protection led,
To Dalecarlia Sweden’s
hero fled;
There, with a pious friend
retired, unknown,
He mourn’d his country’s
sorrows, and his own.
Those mountain peasants, negatively
free,
The sole surviving friends
of Liberty,
Unbought by bribes, still
trample Christiern’s power,
And wait in silence the decisive
hour.
’Twas morn
when Christiern bade a herald call
His secret council to the
regal hall—
Those whom his skill, selecting,
had combined
To share the deep recesses
of his mind:
In these the prince unshaken
trust reposed,
To these his intricate designs
disclosed;
Their counsel, teeming with
maturest thought,
His ripening plans to full
perfection brought,
Each enterprise with proper
means supplied,
And stemm’d strong difficulty’s
threatening tide:
The summons heard, th’
obedient train attend,
Collect, and hastening toward
the palace bend.
First of their
order, as in rank and fame
Superior, Upsal’s haughty
prelate came;
Erect in priestly pride, he
stalk’d along,
And tower’d supreme
o’er all the princely throng.
A soul congenial, and a mind
replete
With ready artifice and bold
deceit,
To suit a tyrant’s ends,
however base,
In Christiern’s friendship
had secured his place.
His were the senator’s
Next, with a lofty
step advancing, came
A martial chieftain—Otho
was his name:
In Denmark born, of an illustrious
line,
Whose glories, now effaced,
had ceased to shine;
And he was but unanxious to
redeem
Those honours, in his eyes
a worthless dream.
Trained in licentious customs,
he despised
All virtue’s rules,
and pleasure only prized;
And, faithful as the magnet,
turn’d his head
To follow fortune wheresoe’er
it led:
Tho’ hostile justice
rear’d her loftiest mound,
To bar his passage o’er
forbidden ground.
Swift o’er all impediments
he flew,
And strain’d his eyes
to keep the prize in view.
Religion, virtue, sense, to
him were nought;
He hated none, yet none employ’d
his thought,
Save when he glitter’d
in their borrowed beam,
To gain preferment, or to
court esteem.
The minister, not tool, of
Christiern’s will,
He serv’d his measures,
yet despis’d him still:
Scann’d with impartial
view th’encircling scene,
Glancing o’er all an
eye exact and keen,
Advantage to descry; and seldom
fail’d,
When Virtue’s cause
by Fortune’s will prevail’d,
On virtue’s side his
valour to display,
And ne’er forsake it,
but for better pay.
And, e’en when Danger
round his fenceless head
Her threatening weight of
mountain surges spread,
He, like a whale amid the
tempest’s roar,
Smiled at the storm, nor deign’d
to wish it o’er.
’Twas dull instinctive
boldness—like a fire
Pent up in earth, whose forces
ne’er expire,
By grossest fuel nourished,
but immured
In dingy night, shine heavy
and obscured;
Sustain’d by this thro’
all the scenes of strife,
Whose dark succession form’d
his chequer’d life,
He ne’er the soul’s
sublimer courage felt,
That warms the heart, and
teaches it to melt;
That nurses liberty’s
expanding seeds,
And teems prolific with the
noblest deeds.
To guide the storm of battle
o’er the plain,
Condense its force, expand
it, or restrain;
To turn the tide of conquest
to defeat
By stratagems too fatally
complete,
Or freeze it by delay; to
aim at will
Him closely following,
with a thoughtful pace
And slow, the young Ernestus
took his place;
Like Bernheim, graced with
an illustrious birth,
But hapless Sweden was his
native earth.
His father sunk by death’s
untimely doom,
His youthful mother followed
to the tomb,
And to a honour’d friend’s
paternal care
Bequeath’d her only
hope, her infant heir.
With wary steps had Harfagar
pass’d o’er
The world’s wide scene,
and learn’d its various lore;
And, with religion’s
pole-star for his guide,
Serenely voyaged life’s
tempestuous tide.
Yet in Ernestus’ mind
his skilful sense
Observ’d no dawn of
future excellence;
He found no early graces to
adorn
Of springing life the inauspicious
morn;
No prompt benevolence, no
sacred flow
Of purest feeling taught his
heart to glow;
But virtue’s native
influence was in him,
A wintry sun-beam, not extinct,
but dim.
Yet Harfagar with kind attention
tried
To rouse the warmth her hidden
beams supplied;
And, wheresoe’er his
penetrating eye
One bud of distant promise
could descry,
There all his toil was bent,
to fix the root
Unmoved, and spread secure
the growing shoot.
He watch’d the rising
blossoms as they grew,
Preserv’d with constant
care their lively hue,
Spread o’er each flow’ret
a protecting veil
To shelter it from trial’s
rougher gale,
And clear’d, with strenuous
and unceasing toil,
’Twas now
the time, when all the northern land
Was sinking under Christiern’s
ruthless hand;
When patriotism from Sweden’s
hills sublime
With tearful eyes o’erlook’d
the subject clime,
And saw where Stenon and a
matchless few,
To her bright race unalterably
true,
Regardless of the thunders
launch’d by Rome,
Self-titled arbitress of future
doom,
O’er a waste realm her
shatter’d flag unfurl’d,
Conspicuous to the whole applauding
world.
Ernestus’ sire in Sweden’s
state before
High eminence and ample influence
bore;
And public hope call’d
forth the willing youth
To join the cause of liberty
and truth;
Yet here his wary diffidence
look’d round
For due support—but
no support was found,
For Harfagar, whose strong
unconquer’d mind }
The tyrant knew, unmatch’d
among mankind, }
Caught in his snares, was
now in chains confined. }
The sudden blow his resolution
shook;
Deliberate fortitude his heart
forsook;
The pile of hope, that many
a year had rear’d,
Seem’d sunk in air,
and now no more appear’d.
Stenon had welcomed him, benign
and free,
With warm and undissembling
amity,
Enroll’d him in the
list of friends select
He singled out his measures
to direct—
And e’en his life was
in Ernestus’ power.
This Christiern saw, and urg’d
the fatal hour.
With bribes and honours he
the youth attack’d,
With promised secrecy his
proffers back’d,
Tried smooth persuasion’s
most effectual strain,
And added threats, not likely
to be vain.
Strong was th’ assault;
he arm’d his hopeless breast,
And summon’d all his
forces to the test.
His unassisted strength awhile
withstood,
With desperate energy, th’
invading flood,
As the pale victim of all-conquering
death
With one faint effort struggles
yet for breath.
His courage soon beneath th’
encounter bent,
Languid before, and now by
efforts spent;
He yielded—his
brave chief to death betray’d,
And Stenon’s blood dyed
treachery’s reeking blade.
’Twas done;
and peace the traitor’s bosom left,
Of every comfort, every joy
bereft.
Rack’d by despair, in
vain he sought repose:
Round all his steps a cloud
of horror rose,
From keen reflection’s
maddening sting he fled,
And rush’d on further
crimes devoid of dread;
Touch’d the abyss, and
lest his eye might view
Th’ abandon’d
shore, into its depths withdrew.
’Twas night;
the cheerless moon’s o’erclouded ray
Shone dim; the breeze’s
murmurs died away:
On his wan brow unwonted slumbers
creep,
And drench his soul in visionary
sleep.
When lo! deep thunders on
his startled ear
Successive roll, and shadowy
forms appear;
As thro’ the misty vale
at morning rise
A row of trees before the
traveller’s eyes.
His father’s, from the
first of time, arose,
Their country’s friends,
and terror of her foes,
Who factions quell’d,
or legal justice plann’d,
Or bade fair science brighten
o’er the land.
They came; they stopp’d—an
angry eye they cast
On the pale slumberer, and
in silence pass’d.
Again the thunder roll’d;
the lightning flew;
His country’s form appear’d
before his view:
All stain’d with gore
appear’d her azure vest,
And her dim eyes unusual grief
confess’d.
The gloomy phantom on Ernestus
frown’d,
And with her sceptre touch’d
the yawning ground:
A boundless space, with mourning
myriads spread,
Appear’d below, and
thus the vision said:
“Behold th’ abode
of traitors! Sylla here,
And guiltier Caesar, mourn
their mad career;
Here Curio gnaws his chain—Ernestus!
see
A darker grave;—a
grave reserv’d for thee!”
The widening chasm around
him seem’d to grow.
His kindred spirits call’d
him from below;
When lo! it closed—and
from heaven’s opening height,
A brilliant ray burst on his
dazzled sight,
And broke the dream.—In
deep amazement lost,
Unnumber’d thoughts
his feverish bosom cross’d;
Hope, wonder, fear, and penitence
combined,
For many a hour oppress’d
his varying mind,
’Till now in heaven’s
blue space the lamp of day
Was hung serene: he hail’d
the cheering ray,
And thus began: “Eternal
beam, give ear!
Earth, air, and thou, all-ruling
Monarch, hear!
Call’d forth by thee
from the deep maze of ill,
I haste, to work the mandates
of thy will.
This hour, this moment, unappall’d
by shame,
The servitude of guilt I will
disclaim;
And, if eternal mercy deign
to spare
The forfeit life she rescued
from despair,
’Tis mine to watch my
country’s hapless cause,
And with fix’d soul
defend her injured laws.
Hear, Stenon, hear! from heaven’s
bright arch bend down
The sapphire glories of thy
radiant crown,
Accept th’ atonement
with propitious brow,
And thro’ the courts
of heaven proclaim my vow!”
Thus spoke Ernestus,
and in silence sought
The council hall, involved
in careful thought.
These occupied
a more distinguished seat;
A chosen train the monarch’s
list complete.
There unsubmitting Brask’s
proud genius shone,
There Bernheim’s might,
in many a contest known;
Ere yet they enter’d,
Trollio left the rest,
Th’ advancing monarch
met, and thus address’d:
“Hear, Christiern,
hear! th’ unwelcome news attend,
Forced from the lips of an
unwilling friend.
Nor think ’tis from
a mean suspicious heart
I speak my message from our
friends apart;
I know their general worth,
in duty tried,
Yet in one man I tremble to
confide:
False to his country, to himself,
and thee,
Sick of success, and tired
of infamy,
Ernestus now prepares to burst
your yoke,
And win his freedom by some
glorious stroke.
I know him well; his ever-varying
soul
Now searches earth, now looks
beyond the pole;
Successive schemes usurp his
changeful breast,
That seeks for toil, and languishes
in rest:
Like a frail bark, the sport
of every breeze,
That floats unguided on the
boundless seas.
E’en now I mark’d
him—struggling passions play’d
On his pale forehead, and
alternate sway’d.
Of this no more.—Our
friends, dread prince, have sent
Advices, that concern your
government.
The factious souls, that late,
o’eraw’d by you,
Their inward rancour hid from
open view,
Are rous’d afresh, and
gathering all their power,
Beneath the smiles of this
auspicious hour.
Reports and whispers, toss’d
about, ferment
With ceaseless breath the
tide of discontent.
Each vile complainer casts
his grievance in, }
The common clamours to augment,
and win }
His share of future spoils,
reward of clamorous din. }
The torrent of sedition swells
amain,
Disloyalty invades the firmest
Dane;
And Christiern’s arm,
outstretch’d without delay,
Alone has power to prop his
tottering sway.
Haste, while in momentary
bounds is kept,
The struggling flood, which
else may intercept
Your passage; haste! your
new dominions quit;
Their care to some experienced
chief commit;
Haste, and by speediest means
secure your crown
Ere violence and treason tear
it down!”
While thus he
spoke, the tyrant’s mien express’d
The troubled sea that roll’d
within his breast.
By hopes, and doubts, and
fears, his mind was torn,
From thought to thought irregularly
borne.
Thus the swift traveller,
whose successful haste
Has many a hill, and many
a wood o’erpast,
Trembling beholds new mountains
touch the skies,
And wider forests all around
him rise.
His mind, unsettled by the
sudden shock,
At length recovering, to his
friend be spoke.
“Thy counsels, Trollio,
thy inventive soul,
Have gain’d me half
my power, secured the whole:
Display thy talents now; exert
them all:
Rewards and honours wait without
a call.
I dread Ernestus; and my cautious
fear
These tidings would conceal,
while he can hear.
Myself, ev’n now, some
fair pretence will frame,
From this assembly to erase
his name.
But haste, my friend, to council—should
we stay,
Suspicion might comment on
our delay!”
This said, they
enter’d—at the monarch’s side
Sate lordly Trollio, in accustom’d
pride.
A mute attention still’d
each listening man,
’Till, rising from his
throne, the prince began.
“Friends
of my heart! to whom your monarch owes
The brightest honours his
kind fate bestows;
My empire, unconfirm’d,
imperfect still,
Yet asks the aid of your auspicious
skill.
Tho’ Sweden’s
general voice consents to own
Me the true master of her
triple throne,
Tho’ her disputed crown
adorns my brow,
And tributary millions round
me bow;
One bold, one stubborn province,
yet defies
My brandish’d arm, and
to my threats replies;
In face of all the realm denies
my right,
And challenges three kingdoms
to the fight.
On Dalecarlia’s wide
uncultured ground,
With rugged hills, and mineral
riches crown’d,
A race, endued with native
freedom, dwell;
A race, that stood, when total
Sweden fell.
Their strong and unremitting
bands explore
In earth’s dark caverns
her metallic store,
And, from laborious days extracting
health,
Rest satisfied, and ask no
other wealth:
Rough and unyielding, like
their native soil,
The hardy sons of Nature and
of Toil;
Resistless vigour, resolute
and warm,
Strings every nerve, and braces
every arm.
Foremost to vindicate the
righteous cause,
And from th’ oppressor
guard their injur’d laws,
Thro’ many a rolling
century these have shone
Th’ unfailing champions
of the Swedish throne,
And now with all my forces
singly cope,
Sweden’s last bulwark,
and her choicest hope.
No trivial loss their courage
will alarm,
No threatening martial show
their minds disarm,
And bribes, those glittering,
oft successful darts,
Will find no entrance to their
guarded hearts.
No—fields must
smoke, and blood in torrents flow,
Ere all our force can master
such a foe.”
More had he said,
but, with indignant heat
Inspired, Ernestus started
from his seat:
His soul’s resistless
ardour bade him rise,
His kindling soul came rushing
to his eyes—
“Yes! fresh
domains to ruin must succeed,
Fresh cities sink in flame,
fresh thousands bleed!
What want’st thou more,
thou prodigal of guilt!
Oppression’s sword is
buried to the hilt
In unoffending blood—what
want’st thou more,
Thou sanguinary pest of an
unhappy shore?
Far as thy sight can stretch,
look round, and see
All Sweden piled with monuments
of thee;
Behold her provinces with
slaughter strown,
Her ruined fields, her castles
overthrown;
Behold—But ah!
more glaring than the rest,
In me thy brightest trophy
stands confess’d!
Yes—prompt each
fatal mandate to fulfil,
Perpetual slave of thy tyrannic
will,
I stood, to sovereign infamy
preferr’d,
The meanest of thy mercenary
herd:
Thy crimes I copied—for
thy worthless gold
My monarch’s life, my
country’s freedom sold!
The cloud of wrath that veils
in thickening gloom
Thee and those partners of
thy crimes and doom,
In its black scope involv’d
me—not a ray
Shot thro’ the ambient
night one glimpse of day;
’Till heaven’s
own mercy offer’d to my view
From its dark sphere, a radiant
avenue:
Cheer’d with fresh hope,
its limits I forsook,
And, wing’d with new-born
speed, a fresh direction took.
If Heaven prohibit not the
blow, my fate
Lies in thy hands; my transitory
date
This hour may close; and thou,
e’en thou, mayst be
The doom’d assertor
of his wrath on me:
So let it be! E’en
so, thy friendly hate
Will snatch its victim from
a heavier fate:
And when the storms of vengeance,
that impend
O’er thee and thine,
collected shall descend,
The bolt that shakes your
haughty souls with dread,
Shall roll innocuous o’er
my shelter’d head,
Safe in that mansion of unbroken
rest,
Which neither lightnings strike
nor winds molest.
Thus then in brief, relentless
tyrant, take
A fix’d resolve, thou
hast no power to shake.
Let wily Trollio try his utmost
art,
Join’d with thy power,
on this determined heart.
Let sorrows round me like
an ocean flow,
Let earth dividing yawn my
grave below,
Bribes, threats, nor torments,
more shall bid me own
Thy sway, or bow to thy detested
throne,
Dread power! whom, prompt
to succour and to bless,
Reverent I name, yet confident
address,
Do thou the marks of former
guilt efface,
Speed every just resolve,
and every terror chase!”
Ernestus ceas’d.
The listening senate heard;
On every face derision’s
smile appear’d.
Yet some less harden’d
bosoms heav’d a sigh, }
Like the faint breezes of
an evening sky, }
That curl the rippled wave
and on its surface die. }
Reproach, familiar to the
monarch’s ear,
Might move contempt, but ne’er
excited fear:
It cross’d his mind,
like streams of melted snow, }
That o’er a cavern’d
rock’s cold surface flow, }
But soften not their stony
bed below. }
His haughty bosom with impatience
burn’d,
He smiled contemptuous, and
in brief return’d—
“What! hast thou then
exhausted all thy store
Of sounding words? and is
the tempest o’er?
Haste, noble Trollio, fetch
my guards, and send
Th’ incautious hero
to his wiser friend!”
Swift as the word
obsequious Trollio speeds,
And to the secret hall the
soldiers leads.
The youth, resign’d,
bow’d down his thoughtful head,
And calmly silent follow’d
where they led.
“Such be the fate of
all,” the monarch cried,
“Who, born to meanness,
swell with worthless pride;
Who, glad with nobler men
to be preferr’d,
Rise, by officious guilt,
above the vulgar herd,
Obtrude their ready service
on the great,
And deem their talents fit
to rule a state!
Yes, my brave friends, I meant
this recreant fool
But as a means, a momentary
tool.
To push my purpose to a readier
end,
Then to the dust my worn-out
weapon send.—
But leave we this; far weightier
themes arise:
Th’ occasion told all
waste of words denies.
In my own realm, our trusty
spies report,
While Christiern lingers in
a Swedish court,
Once more Sedition rears her
batter’d crest,
And plants her snakes in every
loyal breast.
Wide o’er the realm
the growing tumults swell,
And ask immediate force their
rage to quell.
Let valiant Bernheim, with
a chosen band,
Use all his speed to reach
his native land;
There countermining each insidious
plot
By hostile Craft and Treachery
begot,
Prepare my way; while I thro’
Sweden lead
A wider army, with inferior
speed,
And, as I pass, the trembling
cities awe,
Display my terrors, and confirm
my law;
Then, entering Denmark, pour
my eager host,
An unexpected torrent, on
the coast.
Thou, Trollio, strait to Soren
Norbi send,
Our faithful subject, and
unfailing friend;
Bid him with speed his gallant
fleet dispose,
To man our ports against invading
foes:
(My own brave troops will
guard the conquests made,
Who every province, every
town pervade)
Thyself to Norbi constant
help afford,
And with thy prudence guide
brave Otho’s sword,
And you, my friends, to second
each design.
Your arts, your counsels,
and your arms combine.”
And now (what
time the westering orb of day,
Shot thro’ the purpled
clouds a mellower ray)
The soldiers, with their charge,
the tower had gain’d,
Where, wrapt in fetters, Harfagar
remain’d—
From whose tall top the eye
unbounded threw
O’er all the subject
town its ample view,
O’er crowded streets,
and marts, and sacred spires,
That glitter’d with
the day’s declining fires.
There, round his limbs a length
of chain they threw,
Strict charge enjoin’d,
and to their posts withdrew.
The tranquil captive press’d
the rugged ground,
Smiled on his chains, and
gazed the prison round;
“And here,” he
cried, “the fates, relenting, give
Fair Freedom back; again to
her I live!
I am once more a patriot—fix
once more
My foot on rectitude’s
deserted shore!
O Sweden! tho’ by me
to death betray’d,
Accept these tears, thou dear
maternal shade!
Thy image shall my lonely
dungeon cheer,
And in dark slumbers to my
soul appear:
While hopes of thee shall
every terror brave,
And gild the gloomy confines
of the grave.
Tho’ snatch’d
by cleaving earth to central gloom,
Or buried in the Ocean’s
watery tomb,
Yet should my soul in exile
pant for thee,
And lightly prize all meaner
misery!”
Down his warm cheeks the tears
unbidden roll,
And speak the silent language
of his soul.
Meanwhile the
council closed; the peers withdrew:
To Trollio’s dome the
prince impatient flew;
There saw at large the hostile
plot disclosed,
And his own plans with silent
care disposed:
While Bernheim bade his quarter’d
troops prepare
At earliest dawn the toils
of war to share.
The weak he strengthen’d,
and confirm’d the brave,
Arranged each band, and due
directions gave.
Then to their
stations baste the joyful powers,
And cheat with various sport
the midnight hours.
Some brighten up their arms
to polish’d flame,
And shake the sword, as in
the field of fame:
Some crown the bowl, to chase
dull fears away,
And end in long debauch the
task of day.
Some court the aid of sleep,
whose soft relief
Weighs down the eye of care,
and smooths the thorns of Grief.
Enfolded in his golden wings
they lie,
And fancied triumphs swell
in every eye:
Each bounds in thought the
airy champaign o’er,
And grasps the prize, distain’d
with streaming gore.
Now move the summoned
peers, a shining train,
To where the palace glitters
o’er the plain.
The opening gate receives
the pompous throng;
Thence to the festive room
they move along,
Where tapers, rang’d
in lofty rows, display
An added splendour, and nocturnal
day.
There, till the close of night,
the bowls go round,
And the full board with luxury
is crown’d.
ARGUMENT.
Soliloquies of Ernestus and Harfagar in prison—Christiern in a conversation with his peers throws further light on the rebellion of Prince Frederic in Denmark—He employs Olaus to carry Ernestus and Harfagar, in a boat, into the sea, and there assassinate them—Death of Olaus and Harfagar—Ernestus is ordered by the genius of Sweden, to seek Gustavus Vasa, hero of the poem, in Dalecarlia—Character of Admiral Norbi.
Day’s golden eye had
closed, his ruddy light
Expiring on the bosom of the
night;
And solitary twilight’s
deepening shade
In dusky robe the firmament
array’d.
The moon, resplendent, fill’d
her glittering throne,
And tipp’d with yellow
gems all ether shone.
The breeze was silent on the
glassy deep,
And half the world was sinking
into sleep:
Save where the shepherd led
his fleecy train
To crop the verdure of the
moon-light plain;
Save where the warder on the
turret’s height
Trimm’d his weak lamp,
and watch’d the bell of night,
And the lone captive, in the
dungeon’s gloom,
With beating pulse look’d
forward to his doom.
Still Harfagar
refused the gift of rest;
His country’s cares
lay brooding in his breast:
And many a gloomy pang his
heart assail’d,
But fortitude at each assault
prevail’d.
So stands in British woods
a broad-bough’d oak,
That braved three centuries
every stormy stroke;
While howling winds the scatter’d
forest rend,
He rears his aged trunk, and
scorns to bend;
So stood, serenely stood the
godlike man,
And thus, deep musing, inwardly
began.
“Now silent
night, the parent of repose,
O’er half the earth
her shadowy pinion throws.
Hail, sleep, restorer of the
tortured mind,
Balm of the soul, and friend
to human kind!
The toils and tumults of our
earthly scene
Subside, and melt into thy
sway serene.
Life’s sweetest cup,
with purest blessings fraught,
Were, without thee, a vapid
joyless thought!
My fellow captives all thy
pleasures taste;
Their fears, their sorrows,
all in sleep are past; }
Oh! be it peaceful still,
for this may be the last! }
Now, borne in vision to those
airy plains }
Where fancy undisturb’d
by reason reigns,
Where thron’d in rainbow
light she sits serene,
And flings her sportive glories
o’er the scene;
The first tumultuous ocean
wafts them o’er,
And lands them safe upon the
flowery shore.
This seems to see his utmost
wishes crown’d,
Rebellion spread to Sweden’s
farthest bound;
Beneath his banners the whole
country flies;
On swarming myriads, swarming
“Thrice
happy you! for fancy’s shadowy power,
Unfailing friend of sorrow’s
darkest hour,
O’er your dim state
a transient gleam can throw,
Like twilight glimmering on
a waste of snow!
“But me,
condemn’d alone to wake and weep,
My country’s doubtful
ills forbid to sleep:
Each night the agonizing theme
renews,
And bathes my cheek in sorrow’s
bitterest dews.
Where art thou, Stenon? whose
resistless hand
Stretch’d like a shield
o’er this deserted land!
Say, does that hand still
turn a nation’s doom,
Or sleeps its valour in the
silent tomb?
Heroes and chieftains! whither
are ye fled,
Whose powerful arm collected
Sweden led?
I saw you glorious, from the
field of fight,
When Denmark shrunk before
your stormy might:
And now, perhaps, your buried
ashes sleep,
And o’er your honour’d
tombs your country’s sorrows weep.
Illustrious senators! whose
wisdom view’d
Th’ approaching storm,
and oft its strength subdued:
And thou, young Vasa! once
renown’d in war,
Thy country’s hope,
and freedom’s northern star:
Too true, alas! I fear,
a tyrant’s hand
Has swept your glories from
the darken’d land.
Why else these walls resign’d
to Christiern’s powers,
And I a captive in these mournful
towers?
Stockholm once lost, can Sweden
yet remain,
Or freedom linger in her desert
plain?
Yet, unextinguish’d
by the conquering foe,
Some spark in distant provinces
may glow;
(As the swift lightning, weary
of its course,
On some low distant cloud
collects its scatter’d force)
Prepared ere long to burst
in tenfold wrath,
And dart destruction on the
hostile path.
“Thou too,
Ernestus! what protecting doom
Has guided thee thro’
fate’s tremendous gloom?
Unhappy relic of a patriot
line,
Dost thou with all their ancient
glory shine,
And, unappall’d by labour
or by fear,
Lift for thy country the protecting
spear?
Or, wrapt in fetters, and
in darkness lost,
Say, dost thou languish for
thy native coast?
Perhaps, unnoted, by the tyrant’s
eyes,
In unknown solitude secure
he lies—
Whate’er his fate, nor
terror’s base control,
Nor hostile bribes, can e’er
have moved his soul,
No! taught by me, Ernestus
nobly spurns
Each vulgar aim, and for his
country burns.
“Why art
thou sad, my soul? the eye divine
Still looks on all; to grieve
is to repine!
And tho’ destruction
cover all the shore,
Tho’ heroes, kings,
and statesmen be no more,
Tho’ Stenon, vainly
mild, and vainly brave,
Fill the dark bosom of the
dreary grave,
Tho’ Sweden’s
sons no earthly hope retain,
Tho’ not one spark of
ancient fire remain,
Tho’ hostile banners
crowd her blazing sky,
And stretch’d in dust
her smoking castles lie:
Yet, Lord of all! from ruin’s
blackening ware,
Thy arm is till omnipotent
to save:
Thy arm can stop the whirlwind’s
rushing breath,
And light with hope the funeral
shades of death!
“The gloom
dissolves! and Sweden’s glories old
With added lustre to my sight
unfold;
He comes! the doom’d
deliverer, from afar,
Gathers his rushing thousands
to the war!
His generous might uniting
factions greet,
And crush’d oppression
groans beneath his feet:
From each bright year successive
glories spring,
And shouting millions hail
a patriot king!
“For me—these
joys assured, in calm repose,
With trembling hope, I wait
my end of woes.
Long vers’d in sufferings,
I no more complain,
Nor shall one tear my former
patience stain.
Long, long, has time, slow
rolling, swept away
The dear companions of my
earlier day;
So long, that memory scarce
their names retains,
And blank oblivion o’er
my bosom reigns.
Ernestus, now, alone sustains
their part,
(Loved more than all) within
this widow’d heart:
And thou, my God, wilt hear
my prayers, and spread
A guardian veil o’er
youthful virtue’s head.
Thy hand supreme, an ever
watchful guide,
Has steer’d me safe
o’er life’s uncertain tide;
Has led me on thro’
danger’s various forms,
Thro’ faithless sunshine,
and thro’ whelming storms:
Thy kind indulgence now unfolds
the page
Of future time to my desponding
age.
On thee I call, with grateful
joy oppress’d,
To speed my passage to eternal
rest!
I am alone on earth—at
heaven’s bright gate,
Nor less Ernestus,
from his friend apart,
In lengthen’d thought
explored his secret heart.
Far from the rest, in fetters
wrapt he lay,
Where the wan moonlight threw
a slanting ray
Thro’ the dim grate;
his rapture beaming eyes
On this he fixes, and in transport
cries—
“Oh, sacred lamp! since
last on thee I gazed,
What joy unthought this drooping
soul has raised!
In deep amaze I view my alter’d
state,
And scarce believe the wonders
of my fate.
My heart, so late the slave
of vice and fear,
Now smiles at death, and thinks
no fate severe.
Drop, infamy from thy neglecting
hand
My name; deny it a perennial
brand;
And cast a friendly veil on
the disgrace
A deed like mine entails on
human race.
What said I? No.—Pour
all thy floods of shame
Thro’ future ages on
Ernestus’ name;
Say, that with cool untrembling
hand he spilt
His master’s blood,
and gloried in his guilt:
So shall the sons of earth
in other times,
Know my disgrace, and tremble
at my crimes.
Oh Stenon! could my ceaseless
tears restore
Thee, patriot chief to Sweden’s
widow’d shore!
How would I joy, amidst thy
martial train,
To mow the adverse ranks,
and sweep along the plain,
Tread in thy daring steps
with equal fire,
Or at thy feet triumphantly
expire!
But vain the wish—let
hope’s unfading ray
Lead my firm steps in duty’s
arduous way;
Pain, shame, and death, at
heaven’s all righteous call
I meet, and in its strength
shall conquer all.”
So mused the captives;
while, in lordly state,
Smiling amidst his peers the
monarch sate.
O’er the vast roof,
with gilded rafters gay,
Unnumber’d lamps effused
a mingled ray:
The dancing glory fill’d
the spacious hall,
Play’d on the roof,
and cheer’d the pictured wall,
With glancing beams the golden
goblets shine,
The red light trembles on
the sparkling wine.
Here sat the chiefs, in stormy
war renown’d,
Or with the senate’s
peaceful honours crown’d
On various themes their mingled
converse ran,
’Till Trollio to the
monarch thus began.
“Your nice
experience, prince, and art combined,
Famed thro’ the north,
long charmed my wondering mind:
This morn, I deem’d
it lost; and scarce believ’d
Th’ unwonted words my
doubtful ear receiv’d.
Can then a mighty monarch
eye with fear
“Sees not
my Trollio thro’ the thin disguise,
Form’d only to deceive
Ernestus’ eyes?
Vers’d in the changeful
temper of mankind,
From day to day I watch’d
his varying mind;
I saw, where’er he roved,
unsettled thought
In his weak mind a storm of
passion wrought;
At length, this morn, he cast
a scowling eye
Upon his prince, and pass’d
disdainful by.
This theme, I knew, the moody
youth would fire,
And rouse to rage his long
collected ire.
Enough of this; a weightier
care demands
Our keen reflection, and our
active hands.
While here we feast, increasing
dangers lower,
And artful Frederic shakes
my tottering power.
Impatient of their lawful
monarch’s sway
Full twenty towns sedition’s
flag display.
Th’ ambitious brother
of my martial sire
In every bosom fans the growing
fire:
His throne he rais’d
on Jutland’s faithless coast,
Thence o’er the country
spread his factious host.
Each day, each hour, the ripening
tumult grows,
And discord’s torch
with added fuel glows.
Ev’n now, perhaps, their
midnight council wait
’Till their wise chief
shall close some dark debate.
Of this let Trollio tell:
my anxious breast,
Oft worn with thought, demands
its wonted rest;
And thro’ yon western
window’s chequer’d height,
The setting planets shoot
a ruddier light.’
He spoke; departing thro’
the unfolded gate
The long procession glides
in lordly state;
Then each, with eyes in balmy
slumber closed,
From the day’s revels
and its cares reposed.
Among the ruffians
that, allured by gain,
Lurk’d round the dwellings
of the royal Dane,
The horrid eminence a Swede
might claim,
A lawless wretch—Olaus
was his name:
His name, with darkest brand
exalted high,
Glared on the towering pitch
of infamy.
Twice, o’er his head
Him to a room
the tyrant call’d by night,
Where thick and gloomy grates
shut out the light;
From the low roof a smoky
taper hung,
And wide around its fitful
lustre flung.
“Haste,
brave Olaus!” (Scandia’s monarch spoke,
And on the ruffian cast a
gracious look)
“Haste, to the castle’s
lofty walls repair,
And find Ernestus, lock’d
in fetters there,
Him and his friend from their
dark cell convey,
And lead them secret o’er
the watery way;
Thou know’st the rest.”
No more the tyrant said;
And, at his word, th’
obedient felon sped.
The stars now
gliding down th’ ethereal blue,
O’er earth and air a
shadowy lustre threw;
When, by relentless avarice
led to fate,
Olaus issued from the royal
gate.
The ruffian centinels their
brother knew,
And at his word the portals
open flew.
Then to the tower he moved
with silent speed,
And smiled, exulting in the
future deed.
So to the town
where weary riot sleeps
On purple clouds some dark
contagion creeps:
From eastern climes proceeding
swift and fell,
Where torrid suns the ripen’d
poison swell;
Borne on infected gales along
the skies
Th’ ethereal store of
vast destruction flies,
O’er interposing deserts
wins its way,
Blasts the green vale, and
withers cheerful day;
Then settling on the walls,
with steaming breath
Pours thro’ the thicken’d
air disease and death.
And now in view
the ancient castle frown’d,
With many a dim-appearing
turret crown’d:
Here, round the gloomy doors,
the warder-band
(A watchful train) in silent
order stand.
The jarring gates unfold:
two torches play
Thro’ the broad gloom,
and point the darksome way.
First to Ernestus’ cell
his way he took,
And from th’ astonish’d
youth his fetters shook.
Next to the sage, now wrapp’d
in slumber, sped, }
Loos’d his firm chain,
and rais’d his sleeping head; }
And thro’ the echoing
valves the noble captives led. }
With kindling eye the hoary
sire survey’d
The stars careering thro’
the nightly shade,
Fix’d on the long-lost
heavens his raptured sight,
And drank with joy the flowing
gale of night.
Then thus Olaus:
“To my anxious king,
Illustrious Swedes, your nightly
steps I bring.
He knows your worth, and deems
his power were vain,
Should souls like your’s
a captive doom sustain.
Secret his purpose, to the
farther coast
Of Bothnia’s gulph he
leads his gather’d host.
When first gray twilight spread
her glimmering shade,
On the broad main his streamers
were display’d:
And soon th’ auspicious
breeze shall waft you o’er
To meet your monarch on the
destined shore.”
He spoke, but
neither answer’d—wonder hung
On either mind, and silenced
either tongue;
Fix’d for a space, each
other’s form they view’d;
Then, wrapp’d in thought,
their unknown guide pursued.
O’er the dark streets
with half-extinguish’d beam,
The scatter’d lamps
diffused a quivering gleam;
At distant intervals the ruddy
light
Half mingles with the dusky
robe of night:
While, as they past, with
loud repeated stroke
A midnight bell the solemn
stillness broke.
At length they
reach the borders of the deep,
Where a selected band in silence
keep
Perpetual watch. Before
Olaus’ stride,
Ere yet he spoke, th’
obedient crowd divide.
A lonely boat amidst the harbour
stood,
And cast its shadow o’er
the neighbouring flood.
This from the strand he loos’d,
and bade the sail
Spread its white bosom to
th’ indulgent gale:
They take their seats, and
from the lessening shore
It flies; the parted billows
foam before:
On each wan cheek the freshening
breezes play,
And speed their passage o’er
the watery way.
The silver splendors of the
lunar beam }
Dance on the waves, and in
the quiet stream }
The twinkling stars with faint
reflection gleam }
Now on the guide Ernestus
turn’d his eyes,
The gloomy look, and the gigantic
size;
Now on his friend, involv’d
in new amaze,
Fix’d the keen ardour
of his silent gaze:
Each thought reflected on
his brow was seen,
And all his soul seem’d
centred in his mien.
Meanwhile the
felon, exercised in ill,
Watch’d the due time
to work his master’s will;
At length his sable robe aside
he threw,
And from its dark concealing
mantle drew
A dagger’s well-tried
point. The moonshine play’d
On the smooth surface of the
polish’d blade.
Ernestus saw: his heart-blood
quicker flow’d;
On his bold cheek the mounting
courage glow’d:
Inspired by Heaven, a sudden
vigour strung
His youthful limbs; high from
the deck he sprung,
And grasp’d the steel,
then, wheeling swiftly round,
On the astonish’d ruffian
dealt a wound:
Th’ unerring blade,
with nervous force impell’d,
Deep thro’ his neck
its bloody passage held,
Now on the deck
distain’d with recent blood,
Involv’d in thought
the silent victor stood,
And turn’d to Harfagar—when
on his view
Successive wonders burst,
and all around him grew.
Faint and more feint the billowy
roar became,
And sunk, and died at last.—With
lessening flame
The starry host along th’
ethereal way,
Unknown the cause, successive
die away.
For yet the morn was far,
nor had the sky
With reddening blush proclaimed
the solar glory nigh.
Amidst the swiftly-changing
scene, amazed,
They stood, and on the brightening
ether gazed:
They gazed, but trembled not:
some power unseen
Confirmed their hearts to
meet the awful scene.
O’er the wide skies,
and o’er the ocean’s bed,
A growing stream of wavy splendor
spread,
As if another sun with bright
control
Had changed heaven’s
motions, and revers’d the pole.
Nature was in alarm:
with sudden dread }
To his dark nook the screaming
sew-mew fled: }
The murmurs of the midnight
breeze were dead. }
Wider and wider spread th’
unusual glare,
And the last cloud at length
dispers’d in air.
When, as a flame bursts broad
thro’ azure smoke,
From the bright cloud a dazzling
vision broke.
Like some tall dome, that
shoots its towers on high,
His airy stature mingled with
the sky:
Terror and might stood blended
in his mien,
And his blue eye-balls shone
with flames serene.
A wreath of light his fulgent
brows array’d,
That, shifting, with a thousand
colours play’d.
His star-bespangled robe,
of sparkling blue,
O’er sea and air reflected
glories threw:
The moon, the skies, the golden
stream of rays,
Seem’d lost and dimm’d
in that all-conquering blaze.
His yellow locks sail’d
on the clouds afar,
And o’er his temples
flamed the northern star.
His better hand sustain’d
a spacious shield,
Round as nocturnal Cynthia’s
argent field;
On whose enormous surface
stood emblazed
A mighty realm, with towers
and turrets rais’d.
Here, a broad lake in mimic
waves extends;
There, a tall mountain’s
sloping summit bends.
O’er many a river many
a navy rode,
With commerce rich, and thro’
the yielding flood
With outspread sails proceeded—all
around,
Huge untamed rocks, and giant
castles frown’d.
The vault above serenely calm
appear’d,
And cloudless light the short-lived
summer cheer’d.
Here, fell marauders wasting
In silent reverence
stood each wondering Swede,
Unmoved by terror: thrice
the youth decreed
To speak, and thrice upon
his fetter’d tongue,
Restrain’d by awe, th’
imperfect accents hung,
When the dread form the boundless
stillness broke;
Ocean and air stood listening
as he spoke.
“The power
who reins the whirlwind’s stormy force,
And guides the wheeling planets
in their course,
Provoked by crimes, o’er
Sweden’s guilty land
Stretch’d wide the terrors
of his flaming hand:
Her venal priests, her kings
in luxury lost,
Her factious nobles, and seditious
host,
Call’d down th’
unwilling bolt; and many a year
Beheld it blaze, and shrunk
beneath its flames severe.
His angry thunder on a blasted
shore }
Has wreak’d its vengeance;
the collected store }
Of wrath is spent, and the
last peal is o’er. }
Now o’er the land, rich
with a new-born spring,
Returning Mercy waves her
golden wing:
Obedient fate draws back its
sable line, }
And bright events in long
succession shine: }
Consenting years roll on,
and crown the great design. }
Unnumber’d arts, more
glorious from decay,
Rise one by one, and gild
the land with day.
No more shall Sweden mourn
her fetter’d doom,
The sport of despots, and
the slave of Rome:
Slanderers of Heaven, betrayers
of mankind
By passion bloated, and to
reason blind,
Her prelates shall oppress
the land no more;
But Liberty, with charms unknown
before,
Break forth effulgent; and
protecting Peace,
For a long age, bid battle’s
trumpet cease.
Her guardian genius, from
th’ empyreal plain }
I come, to bid primeval blessings
reign, }
And exiled Science lift her
sacred lamp again. }
“Thou, Harfagar,
allied to earth no more,
Pursue my flight, and seek
our friendly shore.
Thy term of care is past:
thy clouded day
Dissolves at length in heaven’s
eternal ray.
Th’ almighty Parent
calls thee, from on high,
To fill the seats of immortality.
“And thou,
Ernestus—thou, to whom ’tis given
To bear the tidings of benignant
Heaven,
Aided by me, pursue the watery
road,
And seek Gustavus in his dark
abode.
Where swift Dal-Elbe his wandering
current leads
Thro’ barren mountains
and uncultured meads,
Resign’d to cold despair,
the hero lies,
Nor knows the favour of th’
indulgent skies.
For twenty months unwearied
has he traced
The town, the province, and
the watery waste:
No aiding friend his patriot
labours found;
Fear master’d all, and
all were slaves around.
Each hope of liberty and Sweden
lost,
He now resolves to seek a
foreign coast,
In Albion or in Gaul secure
to rest,
And cling to Freedom’s
warm maternal breast.
Such his intent—Ernestus!
be it thine
To tear the warrior from the
rash design!
Bid him to arms the free-born
peasants move,
Safe in the conduct of the
powers above!
Swift as from hill to hill
the beacon flies,
In every heart the patriot
flame shall rise:
From Wermeland’s hills
the war-cry shall rebound,
And Sudermania echo back the
sound:
The frank Westmanian’s
generous heart shall glow,
And join the sterner Goth
to crush the foe.
Bid him his standard in mid
Sweden rear,
And check th’ oppressor
in his fell career:
Say, that, impatient of unjust
command,
Indignant Denmark spurns him
from her land!
He builds a lofty tower; the
basis stands
Fix’d in the stormy
ocean’s moving sands:
The turrets in unstable grandeur
rise,
The baseless fabric shoots
into the skies,
Soon shall the glories of
the ponderous hall
Come thundering down, to crush
him in their fall!
“Cheer’d
with this hope let gallant Vasa raise
His daring soul, to meet immortal
praise.
Graced with hereditary virtue
shine,
And vindicate the glories
of his line.
From age to age that generous
line shall reign,
‘And sons succeeding
sons the lasting race sustain.’”
The mighty seraph
ceas’d. While thus he said,
Without a sigh, the old man’s
spirit fled.
Ere yet, enfranchis’d,
thro’ the air it past,
On the lov’d youth one
parting look it cast,
And gazed on Sweden, then,
no more confined,
Soar’d thro’ the
clouds, and mingled with the wind.
Th’ angelic power his
sacred arm applied
To push the vessel o’er
the yielding tide,
And swifter than the eagle’s
noon-day flight
It flew: while, melting
from the dazzled sight,
O’er the wide heavens
a radiant line he drew,
The track still glittering
where the glory flew.
And now ’twas
silence all: the pale stars shone;
The moon, declining, fill’d
her ruddy throne.
But wrapt in deepest trance
Ernestus lay,
’Till Phosphor’s
lamp restored the purple day.
Meanwhile, ere
yet on Stockholm’s towery height
The morning-planet shed its
trembling light,
A troop, with Bernheirn, thro’
the portals past,
Whose polish’d arms
a glimmering splendor cast.
No single breath the general
stillness stirr’d;
Their trampling feet alone
the warder heard,
And follow’d with his
sight the dusty cloud,
That in its mantle wrapp’d
the marching crowd.
O’er crackling bushes
scud the warrior train
And pass with haste the solitary
plain;
’Till the broad sun
discover’d from afar
The dawning lustre of his
golden car.
Beneath the covert of a neighbouring
wood
They paus’d awhile,
and their swift march renew’d.
Now, driven by
force celestial o’er the tides,
With lightning speed the rapid
pinnace glides:
’Till, having finish’d
its predestined way,
Its winged motions silently
decay.
And now, from slumber rous’d,
Ernestus spied
A river, branching from the
ocean tide;
The mighty stream roll’d
on its darksome flood
Thro’ mossy cavern and
thro’ tangled wood;
Thence in soft mazes drew
its humid train,
To feed the verdure of a lonely
plain.
He furl’d the sail,
and grasp’d the labouring oar,
And sped to Dalecarlia’s
welcome shore.
The oar, light-stretching,
breaks the sparkling tide.
And scatters the reflected
sunbeam wide.
And now, by Trollio
sent, without delay
From Stockholm’s towers
a herald took his way,
Amidst his idle fleet where
Norbi slept,
And on the ocean’s verge
his station kept.
Amongst those peers, whom
matchless talents rais’d
To shine in Christiern’s
court, their names emblazed
With glittering infamy, and
splendid shame,
This naval chief held no inglorious
fame.
In his firm heart ambition
fix’d her reign,
But led celestial mercy in
her train.
While others joy’d to
crush the yielding foe,
And bid the torch of ruin
ceaseless glow,
‘Twas his alone, to
bid th’ uplifted dart
Recoil unsated from the victim’s
heart,
The wounds of misery and despair
to heal,
And smile upon the griefs
he could not feel.
A lawless pirate, by his king’s
command
His numerous navy on the hostile
strand
Pour’d their incessant
force, and o’er his head
Her wings for many a year
bold triumph spread:
’Till, doom’d
at length the chance of war to feel,
Entangled in ambition’s
broken wheel,
Crush’d by his falling
master’s hapless fate,
Awhile he struggled with th’
opposing weight:
In vain; of every hope and
ARGUMENT.
Ernestus enters Dalecarlia—View of the scene round Mora—Transition to Gustavus Vasa, who it represented as reclining under a tree near his friend, the pastor’s house, and retracing past events in his mind—His soliloquy—After briefly recounting the late disasters of Sweden, and the arguments which induced him to resolve to quit his country, he concludes with a prayer—Ernestus then appears, and delivers his message from the Genius of Sweden—Gustavus treats his mission as a fiction, upbraids him as a traitor, and attempts his life, but is prevented by apparent prodigies, which, however, do not entirely convince him or alter his resolution.
Auspicious Spirit, whosoe’er
thou art,
Who warm, exalt, and fill,
the Poet’s heart:
Who bade young Homer pour
the martial strain,
And led the Tuscan bard thro’
hell’s profound domain:
By whom unequal Camoeens,
borne along
A torrent-stream, majestic,
wild, and strong,
Sung India’s clime disclosed,
and fiery showers
Bursting on Calicut’s
perfidious towers:
By whom soft Maro caught Maeonian
fire,
And plaintive Ossian tuned
his Celtic lyre:—
If still ’tis thine
o’er Morven’s heaths to rove,
Tago’s green banks,
or Meles’ hallow’d grove,
Assist me thence—command
Thou too, eternal Freedom! Britain’s friend, To British strains thy wonted influence lend, And fire my kindling mind, while I display Thy own Gustavus in unclouded day. From where, on vast Nevada’s icy brow, Enthroned in clouds, thou view’st the realm below, The Lusian, Gaul, and Albion’s warring train, The clash of arms, and tumult of the plain; From thence I call thee—rouse thy name once more, } And to an equal theme thine aid implore, } Since Spain is now, what Sweden was before. }
And now with transport
wild Ernestus spies
Dalarne’s continuous
coast before him rise.
Ere yet he reach’d the
bank, the toiling oar
He dropp’d, and sprung
impatient to the shore.
Before him wide the dark-brow’d
forests frown’d,
And morn’s still hour
hush’d all the space around,
Save where the whispers of
the changeful breeze
Half waved the summits of
the towering trees.
Alone, and guided by a straggling
beam,
He hastened onward, where
the murmuring stream
Cut thro’ the woods
its liquid way, and laved
The grass, that round their
trunks luxuriant waved.
The willing woods an easy
passage yield,
And his glad footsteps reach
the bordering field.
O’er many
a hill he pass’d, and many a plain,
While the steep sun toiled
up heaven’s blue domain:
At length, o’erspent
with labour, he descries
A spire white-glistening in
the morning-skies;
Around, a hundred cots in
order rose, }
And mingling trees a shadowy
scene compose; }
A mighty wood, o’er
all, its dark protection throws. }
On vale, on village, and protecting
wood,
The southern sun shot down
his fiery flood.
Recent from toil, the weary
peasant-train
Reclined their languid limbs
along the plain,
Or dragg’d their idle
steps along the soil,
To watch the mountain-miner’s
distant toil.
Here first Ernestus paused,
and gazing round,
Traced the wide scene, and
measured all the ground.
At length, his search determined
to delay
’Till deepening twilight
quench the crimson ray,
On the cool grass his weary
limbs he threw,
While future years rose imaged
to his view,
From hope to hope his mind
enraptur’d pass’d,
Meanwhile the
guardian genius round him pours
Celestial dews, and nature’s
strength restores;
His swimming eyes to balmy
sleep resign’d,
And fancy bore sweet visions
to his mind.
’Twas now
the time, when sober Evening sheds
Her dusky mantle o’er
the grassy meads:
Nor yet the pale stars trembled
thro’ the trees,
Nor sparkling quiver’d
on the inconstant seas;
Nor yet the moon illumed the
solemn scene:
The fields were silent, and
the heavens serene.
The sheep had sought the fold;
nor yet arose
Night’s listless bird
from her dull day’s repose.
When in a vale with shadowy
firs replete,
Whose broad boughs rustled
thro’ the dark retreat,
Beneath a pine that sunk to
slow decay,
Unseen, Gustavus pass’d
the hours away.
From earliest morn, ere day’s
third glass was run, }
The chief had mused, nor mark’d
the rising son; }
And the retiring day appear’d
as just begun. }
Each flattering argument his
mind revolved,
Each gleam of patriot hope
yet undissolved,
Traced to its dubious source
each meteor-light,
’Till the last spark
went out, and all was night.
Convinced at length, he spoke:
the woods around
With solemn awe return’d
the mournful sound;
And souls of patriots listen’d
from on high,
Uncertain yet of Sweden’s
destiny.
“Yes, thou
must fall! oh once o’er earth renown’d,
Queen of the North, with choicest
blessings crown’d,
While martial glory waited
on thy voice,
And wealth and power seem’d
rivals for thy choice!
Ye fond survivors of a ruined
state, }
Here quit, at length, your
hopes of happier fate, }
And view your country’s
fix’d unalterable date! }
You were not made to fear
a tyrant’s frown,
To gild with tributary wealth
his crown,
To welcome some deputed robber’s
sway,
And watch his wavering will
from day to day:
No—once o’erwhelm’d
beneath a tyrant’s blow.
Each following age will bring
increase of woe,
And every sigh, that loads
the Swedish air,
Will fly the herald of a patriot’s
care!
“How art
thou changed, oh fate! since smiling Time
Bore on his noiseless wings
my youthful prime!—
By my paternal castle-gate
reclined,
I caught the murmurs of the
evening wind;
Or, leaning o’er the
rampire’s battled height,
Cast my young eye, with ever-new
“While yet
a youth, by venturous hope impell’d,
Thro’ foreign climes
my devious course I held;
And came at last, where high
in ether shine
The golden towers of sceptred
Constantine.
There Palaeologus the kingdom
sway’d,
And willing Greece his mild
commands obey’d.
I saw the town with antique
splendours crown’d,
The martial force, the crowded
ports around,
The peopled fields, with waving
harvests fair,
And deem’d, security
and peace were there.
“Onward
I pass’d in youthful ardour bold,
’Till o’er the
changeful earth four suns had roll’d,
When Stockholm’s towers
and Meler’s native stream,
Of every vision, every thought
the theme,
Recall’d my steps.—Returning
thence, I saw
Byzantium sunk beneath a victor’s
law:
O’er the high walls
barbaric ensigns wave,
Red with the recent carnage
of the brave:
On quarter’d camps the
sun his red beam flings;
Thro’ night’s
dim arch the shrill-toned Ezzau rings;
Buried in dust the Christian
altars lie,
And exiled Science seeks another
sky.
“Thus, Sweden,
mayst thou fall! in ruin lost,
Each hope of aid by swift
destruction cross’d;
Thy blazing domes may feed
a tyrant’s ire,
Thy shrines; unwilling, burn
with Danish fire;
Thy latest king, like Constantine,
in vain
May join his slaughtered subjects
on the plain!—
Handmaid of Science, and by
Science fed,
Each vice already rears its
blooming head:
Already Treason digs his silent
mine; }
With, civil follies, foreign
wars combine; }
And raging Faction waits to
give th’ appointed sign. }
Oh! in that hour, when growing
dangers rise,
When the weak trembles, and
the faithless flies,
Gustavus, fight for her! for
Sweden fight!
For her employ the day, outwatch
the night!
Untouch’d by grief,
by terror, or dismay,
Urge thro’ surrounding
ills thy fearless way;
Let useless torture and defeated
hate
Confess the triumphs of a
hero’s fate:
Let tranquil courage in each
act be seen,
And tyrants tremble at thy
dying mien!’
“He spoke
no more. O’er my astonish’d soul
I felt a flood of high emotions
roll:
Toss’d on the mighty
stream of future time,
My young heart shook with
ecstasies sublime!
“Oh, look
not from thy skies, lamented shade,
Nor view that land to misery
betray’d:
If ignorance can cloud immortal
sight,
Be Sweden’s fortunes
wrapp’d in tenfold night!
Thou saw’st not Devastation
sweep her shore,
Her forests smoke, her rivers
roll in gore;
Thou saw’st not half
her woes. Her senate low,
Thou thought’st her
people would revenge the blow;
And hope shone kindling in
thy dying eye,
That some new sun would rise
to light her starless sky.—
’Twas then, when Christiern
thought the axe too slow,
And watch’d with eager
transport every blow,
And drank each murmur that
to death consign’d
The noblest, wisest, bravest
of mankind,—
When ev’n the gazing
crowd was doom’d to feel
The fury of his yet unsated
steel,—
’Twas then thou met
thy fate,—unshared by me!
Thou fell’st, and with
thee Sweden’s liberty!
Thy spouse, thy daughter,
wrapp’d in fetters lie;
Thy son, self-exiled, quits
his native sky!”—
He paused, and
starting from the verdant ground
With hurried footsteps paced
the forests round,
Stung with fierce grief, ’till
the full tide of woes
Subsiding sunk, and calmer
thoughts arose.
While yet he roams
beneath the shady groves,
And tears gush forth at every
step he roves;
Sleep’s humid vapours
lessening on his eyes,
Ernestus rose, and mark’d
the changing skies.
And now a furze-clad eminence
he found,
That wide o’erlook’d
the immensity of ground:
From this, with eye insatiate,
he admires
Woods, hamlets, fields, and
awe-commanding spires.
And seeks where first to steer
his fateful flight,
Safe under covert of the quiet
night.
Wide to the left the blue-tinged
river roll’d,
And faintly tipped with eve’s
departing gold,
The village rose: half-shaded,
on the right
A sloping hill appeared to
bound the sight:
From its hoar summit to the
midmost vale,
Unnumbered boughs waved floating
in the gale.
Imbrown’d with ceaseless
toil, a smiling train
Whirl the keen axe, and clear
the farther plain,
The intruding trees and scatter’d
stems o’erthrow,
And form a grassy theatre
below.
A hundred piles beneath the
moon’s wan beams,
O’er rock and valley
shed their lengthening streams;
Three youths at each their
joyous station keep,
In festive contest bent to
banish sleep,
And strive which first shall
see the morn arise
With pale-red streamer waving
thro’ the skies.
Sequester’d from the
rest a shaded dome
Arose, the son of Eric’s
Meanwhile beneath
an oak, ere day was met,
The village-chiefs, a rustic
council, met;
Whom ancient custom bade with
annual care
The ensuing day’s festivities
prepare.
Thro’ their dark locks
cold sigh’d the evening wind;
Their dogs upon the dewy plain
reclined
Beside them lay. In their
afflicted thought
Each proof of Christiern’s
fell oppression wrought,
Each deed, each menace:
gloomy bodings swell
In every bosom—not
a tongue can dwell
On sports, on prizes, or on
social games:—
O’er their wide vallies
doom’d to hostile flames,
O’er their devoted domes,
their eyes they throw,
Dimm’d with the rising
tear that dares not flow.
At length a veteran chief,
Olafsen named,
In early youth for fiery valour
famed,
By labour unimpaired, unchilled
by age,
And still in battle more than
counsel sage—
At length Olafsen rose, and
darting round
His eyes, where rage and resolution
frown’d,
“Arouse!” he cried,
“delay were madness here!
Let all who dare in arms,
in arms appear!
Enough our eyes have track’d
the conquering foe,
And in calm torpor watch’d
each new o’erthrow!
Yon troop of peasants, ignorantly
gay,
Who waste in careless sports
the passing day,
Soon shall behold the waving
sheets of fire,
Sent from their peaceful domes,
to heaven aspire.
Each year, each month, new
towns with ruin smoke,
And province after province
feels the yoke.
Already on our conquer’d
castle’s height
The Danish watchfires redden
all the night,
Soon, soon, their inroads
will our fate decide—
Haste, let us spread th’
eventful tidings wide,
Arm every hand, provoke the
lingering fight;
And woe to him, that joys
not at the sight!
By this dread tree, which
many an age has stood
Unshaken, and survived the
subject wood,
Which never pruner’s
steel has dared invade,
Nor venturous woodman lopp’d
the hallow’d shade;
By this dread tree I swear,
no peace to know,
’Till conqueror, captive,
or in death laid low!
Arouse, and conquer, by my
zeal inspired!”
He spoke, and
speaking every bosom fired.
From one to one the patriot
ardour flows,
As on the ruffled deep the
watery circle grows.
First rose his
generous son, Adolphus named, }
For martial sports and manly
courage famed, }
A youth, who once in war the
palm of honour claimed: }
And thus express’d his
mind: “To-morrow’s dawn
Will see assembled on our
spreading lawn
Struck with the
welcome thought, from man to man
Mingled with praise, assenting
murmurs ran
Unequal—So in night’s
tempestuous roar
The waves successive lash
the stony shore.
The bold advice, by inexperience
moved,
All seem’d applauding,
yet not all approved;
And old Adalfi thus:
“Tho’ hopes remain; }
Tho’ dauntless rashness
may oft-times attain }
What wisdom’s wiliest
arts had sought in vain; }
He, whose wild counsels risk
a nation’s fate,
For public fame, may meet
with public hate.
Perhaps, ev’n now, to
the victorious Dane
Dalarne has yielded half her
rich domain:
Shall we to Denmark’s
slaves our hopes disclose,
And court with frantic haste
Oppression’s rushing woes?—
Oft have our sires the work
of war delay’d,
’Till signs aerial promised
heavenly aid;
Oft pitch’d their idle
lances in the plain,
While south-winds held their
unpropitious reign.
Remember too the word disclosed
from high,
The sacred word of ancient
prophecy,—
“When gather’d
mists from Denmark’s sky shall crowd,
And blot the North with one
continued cloud,
Then shall a second sun to
Sweden rise,
And with unchanging glory
gild her skies.”
Reflect on this, and let my
words have way,
Nor spurn the needful counsels
of delay.
Should all our province with
united strength
Assail the foe, the foe may
yield at length,
And backward shrink, while
in the favouring hour
All Sweden aids us with collective
power.
The hope that yet remains
our care should guard,
Nor blast by rashness, nor
by fears retard.
Ere yet the assembled chiefs
our fate decide,
Let chosen spies among the
council glide,
To every speech a listening
ear incline,
And sound each heart, and
fathom each design.
Let the skill’d augur
Heaven’s high will explore,
And all with suppliant fear
Heaven’s Lord adore:
So may success our fearless
efforts guide,
And Heaven auspicious fight
Adalfi spoke;
and bade ere noon of night
With sacred spells and many
a mystic rite
Invoke the Power Divine, and
seek from high
The dark events of dread futurity.
Thus they; while,
stretch’d beneath the sheltering wood,
The son of Eric thus his thoughts
pursued.
“Yes—’tis
decreed! in heaven’s recording hall
Her guardian Spirit wrote
my country’s fall.
When first red faction burn’d
thro’ all her shore,
And icy Meler blush’d
with civil gore,
Our ills began. As whirling
Maelstrom sweeps
The shrieking sailor to the
boundless deeps,
Wide and more wide the increasing
ruin grew,
And all our hopes into its
vortex drew.
In vain the statesman thro’
laborious days
Piled plan on plan, and maze
involved in maze;
In vain Sueante, and either
Stenon, fought;
In vain my arm a transient
succour brought:
Almighty Fate on all our labours
frown’d,
Athwart each scheme the thread
of error wound,
Our efforts with an unseen
chain controll’d,
Perplex’d the prudent,
and dismay’d the bold.
Fate urges on—Her
adamantine shield
Protects our destined Conqueror
in the field;
To his own seas by War and
Famine driven,
Furious he mounts, nor heeds
the frowns of heaven:
Fresh hosts appear, unnumber’d
standards rise,
From town to town his gather’d
vengeance flies,
His banner each ambitious
prelate rears,
In arms for him each factious
Lord appears.
Still, as around the blackening
tempest grew,
From cloud to cloud my ardent
spirit flew,
Watch’d every gleam
of sunshine as it pass’d,
And hoped the darkness would
dissolve at last:
But Time now hasten’d
to the dread event!—
In fruitless toil my days,
my nights were spent;
Our chiefs deputed felt the
treacherous chain,
And faith was lost, and victory
was vain.
“Saved from
the captive crowd for death designed,
Many a dark month, in slavery’s
gloom I pined.
To seek, with hopeless eyes,
my native ground;
To hear, in thought, the din
of battle sound;
To watch each passing beam,
and think it falls
On slaughter’d armies
and unpeopled walls,
Was all my life—Suspense
still waved a dart
Of death-like terror o’er
my throbbing heart.—
I was not there, when thou,
my Stenon, fell,
To cheer thee with a soldier’s
kind farewell,
At once to lay thy base betrayer
low,
And pour full vengeance on
the astonished foe!
Thy spirit, from its earthly
home released,
Thy patriot spirit entered
“In toil
and danger nurs’d, the peasants cried—
’Hence, mighty victor!
o’er the Baltic tide;
To other realms thy noisy
projects bear,
Nor vex our humble state with
hope and fear:
Whoe’er is master, we
are still forgot,
And harmless poverty is still
our lot.’
They spoke, and shunn’d
me, as a rebel hurl’d
By Heaven’s red vengeance
from the starry world.
Yet, as they turn’d,
a deep, a long-drawn sigh
Deplored their ruined joys
and ravish’d liberty:
They wept for blessings once
bestow’d in vain,
And mourn’d the good
they hoped not to regain.
The venal noble spurn’d
me from his board,
Or ’midst his smiles
suborn’d the treacherous sword:
While the proud prelate and
his titled foe, }
(As reconciled by fellowship
in woe) }
Alike resolved no patriot
Swede to know. }
All, all was Christiern’s—and
the haughtiest fear’d
That voice, her peasants late
with scorn had heard.
Alone amidst my country’s
wreck I stood,
A little bark surrounded by
the flood,
And hung suspended o’er
the rolling wave,
Whose every surge disclosed
a gaping grave.
’Tis time to give superfluous
toils a close,
And seek the friendly haven
of repose.
To foreign realms I fly, a
peaceful guest:
Ev’n Denmark’s
friends will give Gustavus rest,
An exiled youth with cheap
protection shade,
And glad with comfort him
they dare not aid.
“What help,
what hope to Sweden now remains?
Imperial Charles with kindred
power sustains
Her fell oppressor: his
o’erwhelming hosts
Awe the wide North, and deluge
Europe’s coasts;
Nor could our forces Pavia’s
victor brave,
Tho’ the fierce Dane
were left without a slave.
Still arm’d for battle,
watchful Norbi sweeps
With many a prow her subjugated
deeps.
Dark Trollio, deep in all
the craft of hell,
Who with one art a hundred
hosts might quell,
Conducts her foes: his
active prudence schools
The veteran leaders, and their
courage rules.
Unnumber’d legions swarm
thro’ all her coast,
And scarce the land supports
its conquering host.
Experienced Otho o’er
the troops presides,
And parts their plunder, and
their fury guides.
Her trembling people, as when
winds conspire
To wrap some capital in clouds
of fire,
Now here, now there, for hopeless
succour fly,
Or, chill’d with dread,
in pale submission lie.
Ev’n Dalecarlia’s
fierce untutored train
In arms a sullen slow defence
maintain,
Nor meet the foe; but from
their summits dare
His coming steps, and menace
useless war.
Soon will the hostile steel,
wide-conquering, mow
Their strength, and Sweden’s
last defence lie low.
No more is left to fate:
the fix’d decree
Stands on the tablets of eternity:
And many a towering empire
may decay, }
And many an age roll its slow
years away, }
Ere Freedom light again her
once-extinguished ray. }
“Away with
vain regrets, and useless tears!
One labour more, one final
task appears;
From all my joys with calmness
to depart,
The last brave effort of a
hero’s heart:
The smiles of partial Conscience
to enjoy,
Since erring Hope no longer
can decoy,
And, high on Resolution’s
pinions borne,
Look down on fate, and all
its evils scorn.
Yes—o’er
my head whatever sun may roll,
Scorch’d at the line,
or freezing at the pole,
Still will I guard, untired,
some righteous cause,
Still shield some country’s
violated laws;
And many a joy, that Christiern
cannot taste,
Shall cheer Gustavus thro’
misfortune’s waste.
Enough for me, with honour
to perform
My destined course, and face
the allotted storm;
That done, who will may snatch
the wreath of fame:
Oblivion, close for ever on
my name!
The souls of heroes shall
frequent my stone,
In torrents buried, or with
moss o’ergrown,
And, while all else forget
me, shall proclaim
To kindred spirits their Gustavus’
name.
“Ye faithful
warriors, fearless hearts, farewell!
Who fought with me, and for
your country fell!
O’er your cold dust
I wept not; hurrying war
Forbade all pause.—Yet,
oh! whatever star,
Sacred to patriot worth, and
valour’s crown, }
Contain you now,—from
heaven’s bright noon look down, }
Visit an exile’s dreams,
and blunt misfortune’s frown! }
“Thou too,
farewell! my country! since in vain
I strove to snatch thee from
the eternal chain;
Thou, of whose glory future
tongues shall tell,
Mother of kings and heroes—fare
thee well!
What human thought and prudence
could sustain,
For thee I proved, and proved
that all was vain;
And could my single toils
protection give,
Armies might sleep, and Stenon
yet might live.
For thee I could refuse with
fame to fall, }
When glorious death stood
ready at my call; }
For thee I rush’d thro’
ills, for thee despised them all. }
Farewell!—thy rocks,
thy skies, thy mountains blue,
Where’er I turn, shall
seem to meet my view;
While Hope, unterrified by
all the past,
Shall pierce thro’ future
years, and view thee free at last!
“God of
my sires! if studious to fulfill
In every point thy uncontested
will,
I long have struggled, careless
to escape,
With ills of every size, of
every shape;
If still from Superstition’s
darkness free,
My heart has breathed a purer
prayer to thee,
While erring millions with
vain worship stained
Thy holy altars, and thy praise
profaned;
If now, obeying thy implied
command,
I quit at length this long-disputed
land:
Assist me still!—and
grant my native shore
One hour of rest, one tranquil
season more!
Enough her ancient crimes
have teem’d with woes;
Let her long griefs be paid
with short repose:
Or, if I seek that kind reprieve
in vain,
Let future years, at least,
dissolve her chain!
Protect my honoured mother:
and assuage
The woes that wreck my sister’s
youthful age:—
If yet on earth the beauteous
flow’ret bloom,
Or wither’d moulder
in the silent tomb,
I must not know—Enough—thy
gracious will
Divides, with equal measure,
good and ill!—
To them, if aught I merit,
be it given;
And grant them peace on earth,
or bliss in heaven.
I will not name them more—the
mournful name
Would damp with grief my soul’s
reviving flame.
To safe retreats my fellow-patriots
lead,
Reward their labours, and
their vows succeed;
Nor let one soul repine he
ever fought
For virtuous praise, or deem
it dearly bought!”
Scarce had he
finish’d, when o’er rock and dell
A sudden stream of yellow
splendour fell,
As if a star, with sunlike
lustre crown’d,
Dropp’d instantaneous
thro’ the blue profound.
His heaving breast the joyful
omen cheer’d,
And now thro’ parting
clouds the moon appear’d.
Beneath her glimmering
light the chief survey’d
A stranger-youth advancing
thro’ the shade.
His stately air, his gold-embroider’d
vest,
And towering step superior
birth confess’d;
But time, and mental storms,
had changed a mien
By godlike Vasa once with
pleasure seen:
Tho’ recent hope and
transport half effaced
The lines, which sorrow had
so lately traced.
Unaw’d by
fear the courteous hero stood,
And near the shady confines
of the wood
Now met the youth. “Whoe’er
thou art,” he cried,
“Beneath our roof the
tranquil morn abide:
For see, the red stars rise,
and all around
The dew falls heavy on the
silent ground.”
“Hear, gallant
guardian of an injured state!”
(Replied the certain messenger
of fate)
“For well I know thee,
once in battle seen:
No length of years can change
a hero’s mien,
Unalter’d as his soul;
since in his lines
The stamp of Heaven’s
own hand distinguish’d shines.”—
On him, in speechless
wonder, Vasa gazed:
New feelings, by uncertain
memory raised,
Rose indistinct: now
rage, he knew not why,
Fired all his spirit; now
the half-felt sigh
Of ancient friendship in his
breast renew’d,
Urged its slow course, whilst
thus the youth pursu’d:
“Ask not
my name—lest rising wrath prevent
My hurried speech, and hinder
Heaven’s intent.—
Confined by Christiern’s
doom, I saw, with dread,
The axe hang glaring o’er
my fated head:
Escaped, thro’ nightly
seas I held my way,
’Till starry midnight
verged on purple day;
When instant at my prow a
form appear’d,
Array’d in splendours,
and the darkness cheer’d.
Genius of Sweden (such his
sacred name)
From heaven’s high arch
the lucid herald came.
He bade me instant cross the
watery road, }
And seek Gustavus in his dark
abode, }
Where swift Dal-Elbe thro’
rocky mountains flow’d. }
Then thus: “To
him, Ernestus! is decreed
To govern nations by his valour
freed,
Oppression’s fiercest
efforts to subdue,
And at his feet contending
factions view.
Indignant Denmark mourns her
laws o’erthrown,
And spurns her monarch from
his iron throne.
Soon as Gustavus blows the
loud alarms,
Each town, each province will
arise to arms;
With Wermeland’s tribes
Westmania’s shall unite,
And Gothland’s answering
shouts provoke the fight.
Bid him, who now in sluggish
languor lies,
Nor knows the favour of the
indulgent skies,
Rise and avenge! for him Heaven’s
laws ordain }
The lengthen’d blessings
of a peaceful reign, }
And sons succeeding sons,
his glory to maintain.” }
He spoke, and swifter than
the falcon’s flight
The ship shot instant thro’
the seas of night.
The vision vanish’d
from my earnest view,
And o’er me sleep his
drowsy mantle threw:
’Till, roused by morning’s
beam, my bark I steer’d
Where full in sight your mountain-land
appear’d,
Cut thro’ the bordering
groves my rapid way,
And reach’d your rural
dome by close of day,
Propitious Heaven my guide.”
While yet he spoke,
His changing mien
the youth intent survey’d,
And slowly follow’d
thro’ the winding shade.
[The Argument to the Fourth Book, of which this is only the commencement, will be found in the Notes.]
Observant of the deepening
maze of fate,
High on his throne of stars
the Eternal sate:
Whence his broad eyes the
changeful earth survey’d,
The rolling seas, the sun,
the infernal shade,
And all his worlds. In
one collected beam
Heaven’s various rays
around his temples gleam,
Yet veil with dusky cloud
the lustre pure,
Whose fulness no archangel
can endure.
In bright obscurity he sits
sublime,
And tranquil looks thro’
all the stream of time.
Around the throne
a blue expanse of light
Extended past the reach of
angel sight;
There heaven’s superior
spirits made abode,
Foremost in power, and nearest
to their God.
Amidst the azure sea like
stars they shone,
And circled in an hundred
orbs the throne.
Those who o’er states
preside, and those whose hand
Sheds war, or peace, or famine
o’er a land;
Who guide the uncertain tempest
in the pole,
Watch the red comet, and the
stars control.
Thro’ the
bless’d orders, as in ranks they rise,
The Power on Earth’s
bright guardians turn’d his eyes.
The attendant Spirit knew
the mystic sign,
For ever seated near the throne
divine:
He saw his sovereign’s
will by looks express’d,
And Suecia’s guardian
angel thus address’d:
“Haste,
faithful Spirit! to the nether skies,
Where Dalecarlia’s misty
mountains rise:
A Danish fort on the rude
frontier stands,
Pregnant with war, and all
the land commands:
With specious safety lull
the band to rest,
Unstring each nerve, and weaken
every breast.
The peasant-tribes with new-born
strength inspire,
Bid ev’n the fearful
glow with martial fire,
With sudden hope their cold
despondence quell,
And patriot grief with patriot
ire dispel.
Thence bend thy way to Denmark’s
stormy coast,
Where princely Frederic heads
his secret host.
Let fears and jealousies each
town alarm,
And Denmark’s boldest
tribes for Frederic arm.
That done, on Eric’s
hero-son attend,
Each motion guide, and each
design befriend;
And to his sight in broader
view unfold
The bright events to young
Ernestus told.
Such be thy task: the
rest in silence wait,
’Till changeful time
shall work the will of fate.”
Before the throne
th’ obedient Seraph bows,
And veils the star that glitters
on his brows;
Then thro’ the blue
abyss impetuous flies
Where starr’d with suns
heaven’s ample pathway lies,
Its radiant limit: thro’
that path he springs,
And shoots smooth-gliding
on refulgent wings.
Far in the void
of heaven a secret way
Leads from the mansions of
empyreal day,
That wanders devious from
the road of light,
And deepens gradual into central
night:
By this dim path he sought
the dark profound
Of utmost hell, Creation’s
flaming bound,
Saw the far-distant gleam,
and heard the roar
Of dashing surges on the burning
shore.
With hasty steps he trod the
deep descent,
Thro’ the gross air,
that brighten’d as he went,
And call’d a spirit
from the gulphs below,
Heaven’s scourge, and
minister of human woe.
The summon’d fiend forsook
the fiery wave,
And Sweden’s Genius
thus his mandate gave:
“To Dalecarlia’s
tented fields repair,
And seek the Danish host assembled
there.
With seeming safety and false
hopes destroy
Their watchful care, and melt
them down to joy;
And, while they sleep in the
delusive charm,
Unstring each nerve, and weaken
every arm;
So shall their fears, not
Vasa, strike the blow,
And ready Conquest meet the
coming foe.”
He spoke.
Incumbent on the boundless night,
To upper air they wing their
echoing flight:
Thence swift to earth their
airy voyage bend,
Where the cold North’s
unmeasured tracts extend:
O’er pine-clad Norway’s
wilderness of snow,
O’er the huge Dofrine’s
cloudy tops they go,
Thro’ many a fertile
province urge their flight;
And on Dal-Elbe’s uncultured
plains alight.
Thro’ the
majestic forest’s leafy pride
The murmurs of the recent
tempest sigh’d,
The shades of eve were closed,
and pattering showers
Shed added gloom o’er
midnight’s starless hours.
Sleep in his downy car o’er
Mora rode,
And soft-winged Silence ruled
the calm abode.
Lull’d by the distant
gale’s unequal sound,
The peasants press their beds,
with rushes crown’d,
From daily toil and fear a
respite steal,
And dream of joys the waking
may not feel.
High blazing on
the Danish castle’s brow,
The beacon redden’d
all the fields below.
From its tall battlements,
o’er moat and dell,
Chequering the light, uncertain
shadows fell.
On high, the warder tunes
his martial song;
The rocks, the dales, the
cheerful notes prolong.
On a broad plain
the rising structure stands,
The work of Dalecarlia’s
mountain bands,
In ancient years, ere Margaret
ruled the clime,
Majestic still it stands,
and unimpair’d by time.
The Western height primeval
rocks inclose;
Low-murmuring to the south
a river flows:
The rest with towers and tower-like
works was crown’d,
And cast a various shadow
o’er the ground.
Unnumber’d outworks,
lessening by degrees,
Sloped to the plain:
wide quivering to the breeze
The Danish standard, on the
heights unrolled,
Inflames the air with many
a waving fold.
Stupendous gates the massy
fabric crown’d,
That rough with iron studs
impervious frown’d.
Oft had the rocky cattle’s
rugged form
From its steep sides roll’d
off the martial storm:
And whirlwinds, wasting all
the neighbouring plain,
Spent their loud anger on
its walls in vain.
Lofty it stood, impregnated
with war,
And seem’d a craggy
mountain from afar.
Fast by a fire,
whose half-extinguished rays
Shot here and there a fluctuating
blaze,
The warriors’ languid
eyes in slumber closed;
Their arms, beside them, gleam’d
as they reposed.
The guards alone, still cautious
of surprise, }
Watch’d at each gate,
and gazing on the skies, }
Repell’d unwilling slumber
from their eyes. }
Five hundred Danish
youths this post maintain’d,
To fight alike, and hardy
ravage train’d;
Prepared the fiercest mountain-host
to dare,
And dash from many a battlement
the war;
Prepared to hurl the whizzing
lance, to pour
The missive flame, or dart
the arrowy shower:
Young Eric the selected squadron
led,
Count Bernheim’s son,
in camps and contests bred;
A fiery spirit, never at a
stay,
With martial projects teeming
night and day;
Alike by terror, pity, and
remorse
Untouch’d, he held,
thro’ crimes, his fearless course;
Proud, like his king, to conquer
and oppress,
In action rash, and haughty
with success.
While thus deep
slumber half the troop oppress’d,
And ev’n the waking
found a pause of rest,
The joyful demon, with malignant
look,
O’er all the host his
sable mantle shook.
Instant before the slumbering
soldier’s eyes
Dreams of past joy and sweet
illusions rise:
And he whose ardent spirit
late engaged
In airy wars, and bloodless
battles waged,
A mountain-chief in every
vision slew,
And on the yielding rear still
foremost flew,
Now, sudden, sees each fading
phantom changed,
Feels every care and thought
from war estranged,
Seeks the lost quiet of his
native shore,
And mourns the lengthen’d
toils, he gloried in before:
Burns with impetuous pleasure’s
feverish fire,
Or trembles in the tumult
of desire.
The drowsy watch a sullen
vigil keep,
And scarce oppose the invading
hand of sleep.
Ev’n Eric, watchful
still, and us’d to bear
His destined weight of military
care,
Ev’n Eric feels his
soul’s wild tumult fled,
And bows to softer sleep his
restless head.
Before him visionary glories
roll,
And fancied victories dilate
his soul.
Here, to complete
his task, low-hovering stay’d
The fiend; while, mingling
with the nightly shade,
Intent his generous purpose
to fulfil, }
The radiant herald of th’
eternal will }
Thro’ the wide province
flies, and darts from hill to hill. }
SUPPOSED TO BE HEARD BY A DALECARLIAN HERMIT.
Circling ages swept away
Sweden’s kings of ancient
sway,
And
hid their race from sight:
Circling ages bring again
To that race the long-lost
reign,
And
Time revokes his flight.
Their star shall rise with
brighter beam
From slumbering in the ocean-stream.
Dalecarlia, grasp the spear!
Hail thy great Deliverer near,
To
alter Sweden’s doom!
Born to raise her darken’d
name,
Heir of all her former fame,
And
source of all to come,
Past and future glories shine
Centred in the youth divine.
Sweden, rise! I bid thee
brave,
Unappall’d, War’s
dubious wave,
’Till
the doom’d period close!
War in vain shall spend his
rage,
Prelude to a peaceful age
That
shall redress his woes.
Sweden! rouse thy martial
band;
’Tis thy Guardian Power’s
command!
When the slow-emerging sun
First dispels the shadows
dun,
And
his whole circle rears:
When the north-wind’s
stormy breath
Shakes the mountain, sweeps
the heath,
The
clouded ether clears:
Own the signal of the sky!
Hail the great Deliverer nigh!
FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF SILIUS ITALICUS.
Coeruleas Ticinus aquas et
stagna vadoso
Perspicuus servat turbari
nescia fundo,
Ac nitidum viridi late trahit
amne liquorem:
Vix credas labi; ripis tam
mitis opacis,
Argutos inter volucrum certamina
cantus,
Somniferam ducit lucenti gurgite
lympham.
* * * * *
Thro’ these fair scenes
the smooth Ticinus glides,
And in soft murmurs rolls
his slumbering tides:
No mud disturbs the mirror
calm and deep;
The clouds upon its stilly
bosom sleep:
The varied beauties of the
flowery scene
Chequer the azure light, and
paint the floods with green.
Scarce seems the wave to roll,
so sweetly flows
The tranquil stream, inviting
soft repose:
While on its side, in tuneful
contest gay,
Their mellow notes the feather’d
songsters play.
FROM THE TENTH BOOK.
Ipse refulgebat Tarpeiae culmine
rupis,
Elata quatiens flagrantia
fulmina dextra,
Jupiter, ac lati fumabant
sulphure campi,
Et gelidis Anio trepidabat
coerulus undis:
Et densi ante oculos iterumque
iterumque tremendum
Vibrabant ignes....
* * * * *
High on the rock, the God,
with furious look,
From side to side his burning
thunder shook:
Now here, now there, the scattering
lightnings broke,
And the wide vallies flamed,
and glowed with sulphurous smoke:
Contagious terror roll’d
from plain to plain;
Cold Anio trembled in his
watery reign;
And dazzled by the withering
flames, o’eraw’d,
The chief shrunk back, and
own’d the present God.
1.
Where are the kings of ancient
sway?
Where are the terrors of their
day,
The
chiefs that with glory bled?
Soon, soon their little sun
was o’er;
And, hurried to oblivion’s
shore,
Their
very names are fled!
2.
The darkly-gathering clouds
of night
Had quench’d the red
remains of light;
O’er the hill and o’er
the plain
She held her dim and shadowy
reign,
And the distant billows of
the main
In
boundless darkness roll’d.
O’er land and sea, it
was silence all,
No breezes waved the pine-wood
tall,
Or
swept the lonely wold:
The murmurs of the lake had
died,
The reeds upon its plashy
side
No
rustling motion felt;
But o’er the world,
as life were fled,
As Nature thro’ her
world were dead,
Portentous
stillness dwelt.
3.
On a rock of the sea young
Carthon stood,
And his lamp shone faint on
the ocean-flood,
As with both his hands he
toiled to raise
The seaward beacon’s
ruddy blaze:
And aye the warrior, far and
near,
Explored
the dark profound,
And aye the warrior’s
cautious ear
Was
watching every sound;
But the air of night was mirk
and dread,
And all was silent around
his head.
4.
At length, uncertain murmurs
rose
Athwart
the billows grey,
Breaking the night-air’s
still repose,
And
deepening on their way:
He beard the dashing of the
oar,
And the long surge whitening
to the shore;
And now the broad-sailed bark
appear’d,
And now to the silvery beach
it steer’d,
And
anchored in the bay.
5.
“What news, what news
of Lochlin’s king?”
The
Chief of Lona cried:
“Tidings of war and
death I bring,”
The
ocean-scout replied.
“A dreadful vow has
King Haquin vow’d,
To spread in Albin his banners
proud,
Disperse o’er forest,
field, and fold,
His hundred troops of warriors
bold,
’Till every rock with
gore shall smoke,
And every castle own the yoke.
The keen remains of recent
hate
Yet burn thro’ all the
Northern state,
And many an age’s gather’d
ire
With added fury fans the fire.
6.
“’Twas under the
shade of dark midnight
They met at his hall, in armour
dight,
The
king and his chieftains proud;
Their lances at their sides
were hung,
And the oak-tree, blazing
’midst the throng,
Across the hall, with flashes
long,
A broad uncertain lustre flung,
Like
a red and shifting cloud.
’Twas here, to all before
concealed,
The Monarch his design revealed.
7.
“Their answering clamours
shook the ground,
And Gormul’s mountain
far around
From all his rocks flung back
the sound.
Pierced by the monarch, with
struggling yell
A bull at Odin’s altar
fell;
The priest in a bowl received
the gore,
And round the troop the chalice
bore.
Eager, as he the wine-cup
quaffed,
Each chief caroused the sable
draught,—
The
pledge of martial faith;
And not a word the stillness
broke,
As thus, in turn, each chieftain
spoke,
With
slow and solemn breath:
8.
“’When the fiery-mantled
Sun
Sees the glorious fight began,
He shall see its stubborn
course
Burn with unabated force!
Swords shall clatter, javelins
sing,
Arrows whistle from the string,
Not a step be turned to flight,
Not a warrior wish for night,
’Till the burning star
of day
Quenches his declining ray
In the darkness of the main,
And throughout the purple
plain,
Heaped with slaughter, piled
with death,
Not a foeman draws his breath.
He who well performs his vow,
Monarch Odin, shield him thou!
He who shrinks from hostile
blow,
Hela! scourge the wretch below
In thy ninefold house of woe!’”
9.
“O’er hill and
field the war-drum peal’d,
High
flamed the beacon-flame,
And each noble peer, from
far and near,
To
Haquin’s standard came.
I saw ten thousand lances
gleam
Beneath the winter’s
swart sun-beam!
They hide old Gormul’s
snow-capt height,
They
hide the craggy dell;
And I hastened thro’
the waves of night,
The
tidings of war to tell.”
THE EXILE:
A POEM.
—Superanda omnis fortuna ferendo est.
’Twas night: the stars denied one cheering ray, And wrapp’d in clouds the lunar splendours lay. No lightest zephyr brush’d the silent floods, Or swept the bosom of the lofty woods: Each human heart the general calm confess’d; The childless sire had hush’d his cares to rest: And he, the victim of his country’s laws, The base deserter of her awful cause, Whose eyes no more in earthly sleep shall close, } Yet sunk oppress’d, and drank in calm repose } A short, a deep oblivion of his woes. }
Diffusing verdure
o’er a lonely glade,
A fountain with eternal murmurs
play’d:
Hard by, an ancient forest’s
leafy brow
Cast a brown horror o’er
the stream below,
On the green margin of the
quiet flood,
With looks of woe, a time-worn
Exile stood:
On the dim wave he cast a
gloomy look,
Then thus in low and troubled
accents spoke:
“Dear native
stream! and thou, thrice happy lawn!
Where once I roved, in youth’s
first joyous dawn,
While every wind a holy silence
kept,
And peaceful on the flood
the sunbeam slept:
I now return, and ask of your
kind wave
The last unenvied gift, a
quiet grave!
From scene to scene of varied
misery toss’d,
Each hope, each joy, each
cheerful prospect lost,
With cares and labours many
a year oppress’d,
I hail the dawn of everlasting
rest!
Tho’ worn with sufferings,
my distracted soul
Scarce bows to former reason’s
firm controul,
Ere yet I sink to death’s
secure repose,
Once more let me retrace my
ancient woes,
And count those various pangs,
which now shall cease
In the calm bosom of unchanging
peace.
“Smooth
roll’d my vernal years, while on my head
Fate’s early smiles
a meteor-lustre shed.
No painful fear, no troubles,
then had power
To break the current of one
peaceful hour.
Oft as I trod the meadow’s
verdant round,
Or pierced the echoing forest’s
gloomy bound,
Or traced the willowy margin
of the stream,
Lost in the wildering maze
of Fancy’s dream,
Before me Life’s long
years in prospect rose,
By fears unbroken, undisturb’d
by woes.
Yes! I remember well,—my
dizzy brain
Feels those bright hours not
yet effaced by pain:
Still on my soul they cast
a distant light,
And gild with transitory gleams
the night!
“Yet then,
ev’n then, the powers of fate below
Prepared for me their gather’d
stores of woe:
The tempest watch’d
to blot my peaceful day,
And silent in their beds the
thunders lay!
“Short was
my date of joy: the yawning tomb
Snatch’d my loved parents
to eternal gloom.
With fearful awe my shuddering
soul survey’d
The untried path of misery
display’d,
Gazed wild upon Misfortune’s
unknown form,
And watch’d the coming
terrors of the storm.
“Soon burst
the cloud, and far away was borne
The last faint gleam of Life’s
deceitful morn.
For fancied crimes expell’d
my native shore,
And doom’d alone to
measure ocean o’er,
I left those scenes where
joy for ever reigns,
Secure to find her on no other
plains.
“Dark rose the morn: the wind in every wood Howl’d, and the meteors glancing o’er the flood Flash’d a portentous light. Before the gale With streaming eyes I spread my little sail: Swift o’er the sounding waves the vessel flew, Cliff after cliff receding from my view: Chill ran my heart—the swelling sails I furl’d, While yet emerging from the watery world One headland rose—O’er all the boundless main. } I cast my shuddering view—I wept in vain— } I wrung my hands in agonizing pain: } O’er my dim eyes increasing darkness hung,Page 55
No low, faint murmurs, trembled on my tongue, A deadly torpor every limb oppress’d, Weak were my sinews, and unmann’d my breast: When lo! a voice, that struck my inmost heart, Seem’d, thro’ the wavering storm, to cry, ‘Depart!’ Trembling with awe, I turn’d my aching view, And spread the flying sail, and o’er the billows flew.
“On foreign
shores, to poverty resign’d,
An exile, friendless and alone,
I pined.
Hope and Content inspired
my toils no more;
Alas! I left them on
my native shore!
Stern Want around me pour’d
her chilling woes,
And no faint beam, to cheer
my winter, rose.
“At length,
when years, with slow-revolving round,
Had half assuaged my soul’s
eternal wound,
And rural peace my humble
efforts bless’d
With one short calm of momentary
rest;
Sudden, the demons of tyrannic
war }
Whirl thro’ our peaceful
haunts his rapid car, }
And waving standards kindle
all the air: }
In crackling heaps the flaming
forests rise,
The smoking cities darken
half the skies.
Thro’ burning woods
and falling towers I sprung,
While torches hiss’d,
and darts around me sung,
And, still expectant of some
happier time,
Sought distant refuge in another
clime.
“My term
of sorrows came not: black Despair,
And lawless Force, and shrinking
Fear, were there.
Woes, yet unfelt, were nigh;—fell
Slavery shed
Her night of sorrows on my
hapless head:
Doom’d each imperious
order to fulfil,
And watch a ruthless master’s
various will.
Five years, exposed to unremitted
pain,
I languish’d there—’till
Friendship broke my chain.
“Now o’er
my head full fifteen suns had burn’d, }
Since from my native rocks
my eyes I turn’d: }
And practised now in woe,
my soul no longer mourn’d. }
I sought my patron, and (a
bark supplied)
His fortunes follow’d
o’er the foamy tide.
“From these
dire shores our rapid course we held;
Auspicious gales the flying
canvas swell’d;
And joy’s faint sunshine
kindled in my eyes,
As the last mountain mingled
with the skies:
When, by conflicting winds
together driven,
A night of clouds involved
the starless heaven;
Fierce and more fierce th’
increasing tempest blew,
The thunder rattled, and the
lightning flew.
Soon, borne at random o’er
the watery way,
The yawning rocks our guideless
ship betray;
My shrieking comrades sink.—Some
power unseen
Preserved me, trembling, thro’
the deathful scene;
I rode th’ opposing
waves, and from the steep
Beheld the vessel plunge into
the flashing deep.
“Beneath
a sheltering wood all night I lay,
’Till morn had chased
the flying stars away;
Then sought the wave-worn
strand.—The storm was dead;
And Silence o’er the
deep her pinions spread.
All—all were gone!—I
saw my doom severe;
And, dull with suffering,
scarcely dropp’d a tear!
“There,
by the murmurs of the sea’s hoarse wave,
Scorch’d on the rock,
or shivering in the cave,
Long, long I stay’d:
Fate yet prolong’d my day,
And Grief and Famine spared
their willing prey.
A roving bark at length approach’d,
and bore
The suppliant stranger to
fair India’s shore.
“With wondering
steps I traced the sunny strand,
And mark’d each giant
work of nature’s hand;
Saw towering oaks th’
aerial tempest brave,
And mighty rivers roll the
sea-like wave.
Amaze, unmix’d with
joy, my soul possess’d;
What beauteous scene can charm
an Exile’s breast?
Sadly I saw primeval forests
frown,
And, in each foreign stream,
still sought my own.
“No bright
success my rising labours crown’d;
The sunbeam wither’d,
or the deluge drown’d,
Each growing hope: my
frame seem’d worn with care,
And Death still hover’d
in the feverish air.
Stern Famine o’er my
solitary gate
Spread her cold wings, and
watch’d in sullen state.
Life yet was dear—Each
visionary night
Restored my ancient dwelling
to my sight;
And every gale, that swept
the valley o’er,
Appear’d to point me
to my native shore.
“Soon as
the morning waved her banner red,
With bounding heart the winged
sail I spread.
Again the tempest roars, the
meteors play,
And struggling clouds repel
the rising ray.
Yet nought disturb’d
my unprophetic soul;
Resign’d to joy, impatient
of control,
I seem’d new-born:
Creative Hope again
Restored the sense of pleasure,
and of pain;
Tumultuous transport, now
no more suppressed,
Shone from my eyes, and wanton’d
in my breast.
“Soon did
the storm subside: before the breeze
Smooth flew the boat, across
the summer seas.
The brightening sunbeam on
the waters danced,
From the blue clouds a stream
of radiance glanced.
“As the
fleet swallow, eager to attain
Her well-known regions, scuds
o’er land and main;
So, wing’d with hope,
I flew: my eager sail
Stemm’d many a sea,
and waved in many a gale,
While, ardent still one object
to pursue,
I shunn’d the rock,
and thro’ the tempest flew:
And still, with rapture’s
mingled tear and smile,
Mark’d, as it pass’d,
each dim receding isle.
From each fair view my swimming
eyes declined,
And fairer views rose imaged
in my mind.
“Swift o’er
the waves I flew; and many a day
On the smooth wings of joy
had roll’d away,
When, half-discover’d
’mid the clouds of night,
My native cliffs rose beauteous
to my sight.
With beating heart I furl
my sail, and sweep
With rapid oar the smooth-dividing
deep.
The well-known bay a ready
entrance gave,
And safe return’d me
from the stormy wave.
“Now Night,
advancing up th’etherial plain,
Drew slowly her broad veil
o’er land and main.
With falling tears I bathed
the sacred ground,
And thro’ the viewless
darkness gazed around:
But air’s blank waste
deceived my ardent sight;
The hills were dark, the rivers
roll’d in night.
Yet swift imagination, uncontroll’d,
Ranged o’er the scene,
and tinged it all with gold.
‘And here,’ I
cried, ’amid this piny grove,
In winter’s morn my
lonely steps shall rove;
And there, beneath yon’
poplar’s silver shade,
At summer noon my weary limbs
be laid.
Yon azure stream, that parts
the fruitful scene,
Shall see my cottage on its
banks of green,
Long-cherish’d friends
shall charm each livelong day,
And jocund children, more
beloved than they:
My sun thro’ ambient
clouds shall set more fair,
And thirty years of grief
be lost in air.
Oh, happy long-lost land!
once more receive
Thy time-worn Exile, and his
cares relieve!’
“The gathered
mists roll’d slowly from the lawn,
And fading stars announced
the silent dawn:
A hill, that tower’d
above the bounded heath,
I climb’d, and gazed
upon the scene beneath.
The beams of morning woke
no living eye
Amid this vast and cheerless
vacancy:
They only pour’d their
ineffectual light
On a bleak prospect, better
hid in night!
Where’er I look’d,
outstretch’d in long survey,
A huge unmeasured waste of
ruins lay.
War’s fiery steps had
mark’d the beauteous scene,
And mingled ravage show’d
where death had been,
The fallen cottage, and the
mouldering tower—
A dreary monument of wrathful
power!
The stream that once, diffused
in lucid pride,
Saw towers, and woods, and
hamlets, on its side,
Now choked with weeds, in
mossy fragments lost,
Dragg’d a slow current
o’er the mournful coast.
My friends, my foes, were
fled—not one of all
Remain’d, to see his
country’s hapless fall!
O’er the wild plain
the useless zephyrs blow,
And wasted suns unprofitably
glow.
This ancient forest now remain’d
alone:—
Beneath its shade I sat me
down to moan;
Resign’d to dumb despair,
without a tear, }
Prostrate I lay, or slowly
wander’d, here, }
And, wandering, thought upon
the things that were: }
’Till crowding thoughts
a sudden lustre flung,
And my wild heart with desperate
hope was strung.
“Hence,
vain regrets! unmanly tears, away!
’Tis time to close my
melancholy day.
Smiling with peace, or brilliant
with delight,
Eternity lies open to my sight.
I go, a fearless soul, unstain’d
by crimes,
To seek the rest denied in
earthly climes.
“Ye righteous
Powers, whoe’er ye are, who guide
Earth’s changeful tumult,
and its cares divide;
Who rule mankind with absolute
decree,
And grace the bless’d
with good, unknown to me:
To you I pray not: Your
afflicting hand }
Has given the sign to quit
this earthly strand: }
I bow with joy to your implied
command! }
Yes—in the bosom
of eternal fate
Some real joys, perhaps, my
soul await:
Some peace may yet be mine—some
powerful rock,
Unmoved by terror, or misfortune’s
shock;
Some vale of calmness, some
sequester’d shore,
Where hope, and fear, and
sorrow, are no more.
“My soul,
thro’ endless ages doom’d to live,
A quenchless flame, must every
sphere survive:
Whence, then, these sorrows
in her mortal times;
Chain’d down to woe,
ere yet involved in crimes?
This cloud unpierced, that
darkens all her way?
Is this the dawn of an eternal
day?—
Death, death alone, can chase
th’ unfathom’d gloom,
And light the mazes of my
doubtful doom!”
He spoke; and
gazing on the watery grave.
Approach’d with tranquil
step the fatal wave,
Where the green verge with
easy slope descends,
And, rippling on the sand,
the water ends.
When lo! some power, with
deep resistless force,
Check’d his firm soul,
and stopp’d his fearless course;
He felt its languid influence
thro’ his breast,
And, stretch’d in sleep,
the grassy margin press’d;
His weary soul to balmy rest
resign’d,
And fancy bore these visions
to his mind.
On a broad bank,
alone, he seem’d to stand,
Whose flowery limit closed
a spacious land.
Around, the cultured plains
appeared to glow
With various hues: a
river roll’d below:
Unvex’d by storms, the
tranquil waters ran:
On heaven’s blue verge
calm shines the mounting sun.
As waken’d from a dream
of woe, amazed,
On woods, and skies, and murmuring
streams, he gazed:
Calm, silent raptures flow’d
thro’ all his breast,
And seem’d the foretaste
of eternal rest.
His eye, now settled,
mark’d a little boat,
Which on the nearest waves
appear’d to float:
Its airy sail with snow-white
radiance blazed;
Its blue prow tinged the waters.—As
he gazed,
Lo! the clouds opened, and
with sudden glare
A dazzling form descended
thro’ the air.
Swift as a sea-bird darting
o’er the deep,
Or meteor hovering with aerial
sweep,
He flew, and lighting radiant
on the helm,
Cast a bright shadow o’er
the watery realm.
He waved his hand; the Exile
took the sign,
Embark’d, and join’d
the messenger divine.
Smooth o’er
the liquid plain the vessel steers;
A faint-reflected sun on every
wave appears.
Swift o’er the stream
it steers: on either side,
In murmurs low th’ advancing
waves divide.
Thro’ cloudless skies
the radiant orb of day,
Enthroned in light, held on
his heavenly way;
A line of light along the
ocean streams,
The white sails glisten in
the golden beams.
Still, as they roll, the river’s
waters lave
With ceaseless flow the lily
of the wave:
The willow-forests on its
verdant side
Bathe their green tresses
in the crystal tide:
The bending alders paint the
floods, and seem
A waving curtain o’er
the glassy stream.
Thro’ the wide clouds
and thro’ the watery way
Calm Light and Silence held
their boundless sway.
Now vanish’d
from their eyes the lessening shore,
And nearer grew the ocean’s
sullen roar:
And when the sun-heaven’s
topmost dome had scaled,
The green-tinged waters of
the deep they sailed.
The orb of day, faint-glittering
from afar,
Now veil’d in gradual
gloom his beamy car:
A hollow murmur thro’
the blackening skies,
Rolls dismal on, and loudens
as it flies:
The watery birds fly screaming
from the steep,
And darkness settles on the
shivering deep.
The wondering Exile, from
the deck, beheld
The tempest grow, and clouds
on clouds impell’d:
Far to the south their dusky
legions bend,
And thence o’er heaven
a gloomy line extend.
He heard th’ approaching
tempest’s hollow sigh,
And cold despondence trembled
in his eye—
And lo, it bursts! the boundless
whirlwinds sweep,
Toss the light clouds, and
tear the staggering deep
Sheer from its lowest caves—the
smoking rain
Bursts in white torrents o’er
the echoing main:
The fiery bolts uninterrupted
roll
From sky to sky, and shake
the stedfast pole:
Red volleying o’er the
heavens with curving beam
The fitful lightnings dart
a quivering gleam,
And, glancing thro’
the raven plumes of night,
Shed o’er the deep a
pale sepulchral light.
Swift to the Power
unknown his eyes he rear’d—
No sign of comfort in the
Power appear’d:
Silent he stood—when
lo! another blast
Rends the strong sail, and
shakes the tottering mast!
Now, by the mounting billows
upward swung,
Trembling amid the darksome
sky they hung;
Now seem’d to touch
the fountains of the deep,
Where in eternal rest the
waters sleep.
And now beneath a milder tempest’s
sway
Onward the rapid vessel bounds
away;
When, lo! again—as
if with thundering fall
Descended to the deep heaven’s
loosen’d wall,
Yells the fierce storm:
beneath the furious shock,
Torn from its roots, the long-resisting
rock
Falls prone; the sands, driven
by the whirling sweep,
Boil up, and darken the discolour’d
deep.
Still o’er
the stormy waste they labour on,
Thro’ bowling deserts
and thro’ paths unknown—
A long, long way! the lightnings
flame around,
And winds and billows mix
their mournful sound.
Still on they fare—’till
thro’ the ambient night
Bursts a third whirlwind with
redoubled might;
The congregated clouds in
one vast sweep
It drives, and bares the bosom
of the deep.
The sail flies loose, the
mast in fragments torn
O’er the black surface
of the waves is borne
Louder, and longer, over heaven’s
wide field
Thro’ the rent clouds
the bellowing thunders peal’d:
In one blue sheet the streamy
lightnings glare;
A thousand demons ride the
flaming air,
O’er the dark waves
a deeper horror cast,
And howl between the pauses
of the blast.
And now ’twas silence
all—a sulphurous smell
Spread round: a cloud
arose with sudden swell;
Slow o’er the ocean’s
trembling waves it past,
And from its bosom, indistinct
and vast,
A giant form advanced across
the gloom
Of air, and pointed to the
watery tomb.
Shuddering with
fear, he turn’d.—His guide was gone;
A broad chaotic cloud appear’d
alone.
His limbs no more their chilly
weight sustained,
A deathlike torpor o’er
his bosom reign’d,
His stony eyeballs fix’d
in silent trance
Met the terrific Spectre’s
withering glance.
And lo! the Phantom waves,
with sudden glare,
His burning sceptre thro’
the starless air!
High o’er the bark the
booming billows spread,
The deafening waves were closing
o’er his head;
When rushing clouds the towering
form involved,
And all the vision into air
dissolved.
Like mist that flits before
the solar car,
Or the wan splendours of a
falling star,
The scene dispers’d;
and at his side, return’d,
The heavenly Guide in all
his radiance burn’d.
A smile, with
love and calm affection fraught,
The Seraph gave, as by the
hand he caught
Th’ admiring Exile:
then the earth forsook,
And thro’ dividing clouds
his easy journey took.
Above the skies
on silent wings upborne,
They seek the quarter of the
rising morn,
And, wheeling thro’
the stars their level flight,
On a tall mountain’s
cloudless top alight.
Beneath, a boundless
realm in prospect lay;
Fair as the regions of perpetual
day
Wide stretch’d the peaceful
vale. A brighter sun
Thro’ purer skies his
azure course begun,
And, uneclips’d, along
th’ etherial road
A host of stars with rival
splendours glow’d.
Far to the west, with dewy
spangles gay,
Long tracts of meads reflect
the orient ray;
Collected fragrance breathes
in every gale,
And harvests nod on every
yellow dale.
Successive wonders
on the Exile’s breast
A visionary strange amaze
impress’d;
New hopes, new fears, his
trembling bosom throng,
Doubt follows doubt, and thought
drives thought along.
When now the Angel, with that
awful grace,
That waits on spirits of celestial
race,
On the pale mortal lost in
dark surprize,
Fix’d the keen radiance
of his sun-like eyes:
Mild were his looks:
yet, when his accents flow’d,
It seem’d as thunder
shook the bursting cloud.
“Beneath
the weight of earthly evil bent,
In varied toils and woes thy
days were spent;
’Till cold Misfortune,
with unceasing lower,
Weigh’d down thy soul,
and deaden’d every power,
Reflection’s lamp withdrew
her guiding ray,
And fail’d to point
thee on thy darkling way,
And thy wild soul prepared
to launch alone
From Night’s dark bosom
into worlds unknown:
When, sent by Heaven thy earthly
deeds to guide,
And o’er thy term of
varied life preside,
I check’d thy course:
and Providence by me
Unfolds her secret train of
destiny.
“Oh, ignorant!
to deem thyself the first
Of mortals with unmingled
troubles curs’d!
Thou hast not yet the height
of woe attain’d,
Nor every cup of human sorrow
drain’d.
Thy path of suffering has
been trod alone; }
No following friend, no consort,
hast thou known, }
To double all thy sorrows
with their own: }
No artful foe has doom’d
thy humble name
To public enmity, or public
shame;
And last, and worst of all,
the pangs of woe
Hell can inflict, or vengeful
Heaven bestow,
Relentless Conscience has
not shed on thee
Her poison’d darts,—her
stings of misery!
Thy virtue shone thro’
the dim vale of earth,
And toils and dangers proved
thy blameless worth.
For this, my hand its timely
aid bestow’d
To draw thee back from error’s
devious road.
“All, all
are equal: Heaven’s impartial mind
One bliss, one woe allots
to all mankind:
And he whose morn seem’d
wrapp’d in cloudy night,
Shall see his evening glow
with placid light.
Thro’ calm prosperity’s
serenest sky
The approaching gales of adverse
fortune sigh;
And when Affliction whets
her keenest dart,
And hurls it, flaming, at
the shrinking heart,
Celestial Hope with golden
wing attends,
Heals every wound, and every
toil befriends:
The horrors vanish; gleams
of light divine
Illume the cloud, and thro’
its openings shine;
As the bow, herald of ethereal
peace,
Smiles thro’ the storm,
and makes the tempest please.
“To sway
the whirlwind, gathering clouds control,
Arrest the sun, or shake with
storms the pole,
Heaven gives to none:—nor
have the mightiest power
To stop the current of one
changeful hour:
Resistless Fate with even
course proceeds,
And o’er their levell’d
pomp her thundering chariot leads.
But all can solace their afflicted
mind
With temperate wishes, and
a will resign’d,
Can cheer the sad, improve
the prosperous hour,
With meek Humility, and Virtue’s
power:
With these, terrestrial pleasures
never cloy,
And fear is lost in peace,
and sorrow turns to joy.
“Yet oft’
the brave resisting soul, like thee,
At random borne across Life’s
wintery sea,
When various tempests, with
successive force,
Still drive her devious from
her destined course,
With labour worn, at last
the helm resigns,
And in deep anguish at her
lot repines;
Despair throws round impenetrable
gloom,
And Death invites her to the
ready tomb.
“Let faithful
Memory tell (for Memory can)
How thy first years in even
current ran;
How every pleasure, every
good, combined
To feast with countless sweets
thy tranquil mind:
Each passing joy a kindred
joy pursued,
Nor ask’d the aid of
sad vicissitude.
Swift flew thy boat, thro’
isles with verdure crown’d,
Heaven’s smile above,
and prosperous seas around:
O’er the smooth waves
Hope’s cheering zephyr pass’d,
And every wave seem’d
smoother than the last.
“Soon fled
those halcyon days. The storm began;
From pole to pole the doubling
thunder ran.
Yet still with patient toil
I saw thee urge
Thy fearless passage o’er
the gloomy surge;
Still Faith discern’d
the harbour of repose,
And panting Hope look’d
forward to the close.
“As vapours,
slowly thickening, blot away,
Beam after beam, the sacred
orb of day;
So woes on woes in long continuance
blind
The sense, and blunt the vigour
of the mind;
’Till, by some sudden
gust of misery cross’d,
On the mad ocean of despondence
“But shrink
not thou from earth’s malignant power!
Hope builds on high an everlasting
tower;
And strength divine supports
the suffering good,
As lasting ramparts break
the torrent-flood.
“Sustain’d
by this, with resolute control
The Mental Hero curbs his
struggling soul,
Bids with new fire his pure
affections glow,
And calls his lingering wishes
from below.
Refined by slow degrees, his
passions rise,
Soar from the earth, and gain
upon the skies.
A light, unbought by all the
joys of Sin,
Cheers his wide soul, and
brightens all within:
And, though mankind his pious
peace molest,
And mock the sigh that struggles
half suppress’d;
Tho’, leagued with man,
the hostile powers of hell
Bid round his head the maddening
tempest swell;
For ever fix’d on worlds
beyond the pole,
Nought else can move his heaven-directed
soul.
’Tis his with tearless
fortitude to feel
The bigot fury of a tyrant’s
steel;
’Tis his with cool untempted
eye to gaze
On Wealth’s bright pomp,
and Beauty’s brighter blaze:
And, as the stream its equal
current leads
Thro’ dusky forests
and thro’ flowery meads,
Serene he treads Misfortune’s
thorny soil,
Nor on surrounding pleasures
wastes a smile—
Whate’er events the
tide of time may swell,
His only care, to act or suffer
well.
What tho’ malignant
foes innumerous scowl,
Tho’ mortals hiss, and
fiends around him howl?
Yet, higher powers, the guardians
of his life,
With sacred transport watch
the godlike strife;
Yet Heaven, with all her thousand
eyes, looks down,
And binds her martyr with
a deathless crown.
“When the
last pang the struggling spirit sends
Far from the circle of his
mourning friends,
And, bathed with many a tear,
the hallow’d bust
Protects the mouldering body
of the just;
Oh! with what rapture, mounting,
he descries
Scenes of unutterable glory
rise,
With trembling hope bows to
his heavenly Lord,
And hears with awful joy th’
absolving word!
Oh! with what speed he flies,
dismiss’d to stray
Thro’ the vast regions
of eternal day;
Creation’s various wonders
to explore,
A radiant sea of light, without
a shore!
Then, too, that spark of intellectual
fire
Which burn’d thro’
life, and never shall expire,
Which, oft’ on earth
deplored its bounded view,
And still from sphere to sphere
excursive flew,
The mind, upborne on intuition’s
wings,
Thro’ Truth’s
bright regions, momentary, springs,
And, piercing at one view
the maze of fate,
Smiles at the darkness of
her former state!
“The varied
pleasures of yon’ smiling plain
Would feebly image Joy’s
eternal reign.
As that bright prospect, still
to beauty true,
Presents new charms at every
varied view,
Here towns and waving forests
rise reveal’d,
There the blue deep, and here
the golden field;
Such and so boundless are
the joys decreed
To those, whom Truth from
all their chains has freed.
Nor time shall limit, nor
dull space control
The winged motions of th’
immortal soul.
From star to star to spread
her restless wing,
Learn each dread law, and
trace each mighty spring;
To mix with angels, and renew
the hours
Of earthly friendship in celestial
bowers;
The Source of All, undazzled,
to survey,
His triumphs join, and his
commands obey:—
To span Futurity with raptured
sight,
Age after age interminably
bright,
While with one tranquil all-enlightening
beam,
The past, the present, and
the future gleam:—
Still, as the joyful ages
run their race,
Progressive glories ripening
as they pass,
With new perfections, new
desires, to shine,
Her will reflected by the
will divine:—
To see new suns arise, and
see their flame
Lost and extinct in night,
herself the same:—
Such the soul’s hopes;
and such the blessings given
To Virtue’s sons,—the
brightest stars of heaven!
“Oft, ev’n
on earth, by Heaven’s unfathom’d doom,
She breaks thro’ her
dark fortune’s circling gloom,
And thro’ the dim-dissolving
cloud of woe
Refulgent mounts, and gilds
the world below.
Pale Envy pines, and sickens
in the dust,
And gazing nations learn that
Heaven is just.
“Such are
the truths thy vision would relate,
And such the secret of thy
doubtful fate.
“Go, then—thy
God has fix’d thy future doom,
And light and transient are
thy woes to come:
Those sorrows past, ev’n
Earth has joys in store;
And Heaven expects thee on
her happy shore.
Go—and, by chilling
grief no more oppress’d,
Hold firm thy heart—to
stand, is to be bless’d!”
Quick-glancing
from his sight the Seraph sped,
And all the dream in gay confusion
fled.
Soft o’er the wave the
summer-breezes sigh’d,
The moon play’d quivering
on the restless tide.
He rose, and now with new
ideas fraught,
Revolv’d the vision
in his alter’d thought;
An eye of meek contrition
upward cast,
And stretch’d in lonely
prayer, bewail’d the past;
Traced all his years, and
with a tranquil eye
Exulting scann’d his
promised destiny;
Then steer’d his bark,
with Providence his guide,
To realms unknown, and oceans
yet untried.
WRITTEN ON ITS APPEARANCE.
Be ye not dismayed at
the signs of heaven; for the heathen are
dismayed at them.
JER. X. 2.
Comet!
who from yon’ dusky sky
Dart’st o’er a
shrinking world thy fiery eye,
Scattering
from thy burning train
Diffusive terror o’er
the earth and main;
What
high behest dost thou perform
Of Heaven’s Almighty
Lord? what coming storm
Of war or woe does thy etherial
flame
To
thoughtless man proclaim?
Dost
thou commissioned shine
The silent harbinger of wrath
divine?
Or
does thy unprophetic fire
Thro’
the wide realms of solar day
Mad Heat or purple Pestilence
inspire?
Thro’ all her lands,
Earth trembles at thy ray;
And
starts, as she beholds thee sweep
With fiery wing Air’s
far-illumined deep.
The Eternal gave command,
and from afar,
From
realms unbless’d with heat or light,
The mournful kingdoms of perpetual
Night,
Unvisited but by thy glowing
car,—
Radiant and clear as when
thy course begun,
Swift as the flame that fires
th’etherial blue,
Thro’ the wide system,
like a sun,
Thy
moving glories flew.
Thou
shinest terrific to the guilty soul!
But
not to him, who calmly brave
Spurns
earthly terror’s base control,
And
dares the yawning grave:
To
one superior Will resigned,
He
views with an unanxious mind
Earth’s
passing wonders,—and can gaze
With eye serene on thy innocuous
blaze,
As
on the meteor-fires, that sweep
O’er
the smooth bosom of the deep,
Or
gild with lustre pale
The humid surface of some
midnight vale.
Jamque in pulvereum,
furiis hortantibus, aequor Prosiliunt, &c.
403—407,
409—423.
Soon as both armies from the
field withdrew,
Fierce to the fight the rival
brothers flew:
Each warrior his auxiliar
fiend inspires,
Directs his arm, and pours
in all her fires:
Round the bright reins their
snaky locks they twine,
And with each swelling mane
their glittering folds combine.
The horns were hush’d:
the drums no longer peal’d:
A death-like stillness brooded
o’er the field:
And thrice hell’s monarch
rock’d the ground below,
And thrice his thunders shook
the realms of woe.—
No martial power was there:
the God of War
Whirl’d from the hated
field his heavenly car:
Indignant Pallas sought th’ethereal
climes:
And Furies learn’d to
blush at human crimes.
The thronging people, from
the stately crown }
Of each tall turret, look
with horror down, }
And general grief overwhelms
FROM THE NINTH BOOK OF KLOPSTOCK’S MESSIAH.
Where, in the midst of vast
Infinitude,
The arm creative stopp’d,—dread
bound of space,
Alien to God, and from his
sight exil’d,
Hell rolls her sulph’rous
torrents. There, nor law
Of motion, nor eternal Order
reigns;
But anarchy instead, and wild
uproar,
And ruinous tumult. Now
with lightning speed
Th’ accursed sphere,
with all its flames, flies up
Into the void abrupt, and
with its roar,
With groans commixt, and shrieks,
and boundless yells,
Astounds the nearest stars:
calm now and slow,
With dreadful peace the universal
waves
Of sulphur roll, and pour
a mightier flood
On those tormented, their
eternal crimes
Avenging with fresh pain and
sharper darts
Of never-dying torture.—They
meanwhile,
The caitiff and his puissant
guide, on wing
Impetuous, skirt creation’s
flaming waste,
And suns innumerable, and
with prone flight
Descending down, light sheer
upon the coast
Of outmost Night. The
guard seraphic knows.
That power ministrant, ——
—— and with
quick despatch
Unfolds the Stygian doors,
that jarring hoarse
Slow on their adamantine hinges
turn’d,
And open’d to their
ken the dread abyss,
Unfathomably deep, mother
of woes.
Not mountains pil’d
on mountains would close up
Th’ infernal entrance:
they would but increase
Its native ruggedness.
No path leads down
To those abhorred deeps.
Close by the gate
Impendent rocks with fiery
whirlwinds cleft
For ever fell into the deep
abyss,
Continuous ruin. ——
—— On the
hideous brink
Of this great tomb, where
Death nor sleeps, nor dies,
In dreadful silence, with
the wretch hell-doom’d,
Stood the Death-angel. ——
TRANSLATED IN IMITATION OF WALTER SCOTT.
[Greek: Zeus d’ epei oun Troas te kai Hektora neusi pelasse], &c.
1.
From Ida’s peak high
Jove beheld
The tumults of the battle-field,
The
fortune of the fight—
He marked, where by the ocean-flood
Stout Hector with his Trojans
stood,
And mingled in the strife
of blood
Achaia’s
stalwart might:
He saw—and turn’d
his sunbright eyes
Where Thracia’s snow-capped
2.
Not so the Monarch of the
Deep:
On Samothracia’s topmast
steep
The
great Earth-shaker stood,
Whose cloudy summit viewed
afar
The crowded tents, the mingling
war,
The navy dancing on the tide,
The leaguered town, the hills
of Ide,
And
all the scene of blood.
There stood he, and with grief
surveyed
His Greeks by adverse force
outweighed:
He bann’d the Thunderer’s
partial will,
And hastened down the craggy
hill.
3.
Down the steep mountain-slope
he sped,
The mountain rocked beneath
his tread,
And trembling wood and echoing
cave
Sign of immortal presence
gave.
Three strides athwart the
plain he took,
Three times the plain beneath
him shook;
The
fourth reached AEgae’s watery strand,
Where, far beneath the green
sea-foam,
Was built the monarch’s
palace-home,
Distinct with golden spire
and dome,
And
doom’d for aye to stand.
4.
He enters: to the car
he reins
His brass-hoofed steeds, whose
golden manes
A
stream of glory cast:
His golden lash he forward
bends,
Arrayed in gold the car ascends;
And
swifter than the blast,
Across th’ expanse of
ocean wide,
Untouched
by waves, it passed:
The waters of the glassy tide
Joyful before its course divide,
Nor
round the axle press:
Around its wheels the dolphins
play,
Attend the chariot on its
way,
And
their great Lord confess.
[Greek: Herpazon—ouk
echontos po aischynen toutou tou ergou,
pherontos de kai doxes
mallon.] THUC. Lib. 1.
Pirata loquitur.
Quid nos immerita, turba improba,
voce lacessis,
Sanguineasque
manus, agmina saeva vocas?
Quidve carere domo, totumque
errare per orbem
Objicis,
et fraudem caecaque bella sequi?
Non nobis libros cura est
trivisse Panaeti,
Nec,
quid sit rectum, discere, quidve malum;
Haec quaerant alii: toto
meliora Platone
Argumenta
manu, qui gerit arma, tenet.
Et tamen, ut primi repetamus
saecula mundi,
[Greek:
—— Antolas ego
Astron
edeixa, tas te dyskritous dyseis.] AESCH.
Densantur tenebrae: subsidunt
ultima venti
Murmura, tranquillumque silet
mare: Somnus ab alto
Advehitur gelidis, spargitque
silentia pennis.
Musarum intentus studiis,
taciturna per arva
Deferor, herbosamque premunt
vestigia vallem
Somnus babet pecudes:
humili de cespite culmen
Apparet rarum, et sparsae
per pascua quercus.
Fons sacer, irriguos ducens
cum murmure flexus,
Vicinum reddit fluvio nemus:
aequore puro
Vibrantes cerno stellas, atque
ordine longo
Lucida perspicuis simulacra
natantia lymphis.
Fulgore assiduo
et vario convexa colore
Ardebant nuper: rapidi
violentia coeli
Torrebat pecudes, et languida
rura premebat.
Nunc sedata novos spirat Natura
decores,
Regalique magis forma nitet.
AEthere toto
Se stellae agglomerant:
micat almo lumine campus
Caerulus, et densis variantur
nubila signis.
Talia miranti
sacra formidine tota
Mens rapitur: videor
stellantia visere templa
Numinis, argenteamque domum,
lucisque recessus,
Solus ubi in vacuo regnat
Pater orbis, et, igne
Cinctus inexhausto, devolvit
stamina fati,
AEquatoque regit varium discrimine
mundum.
At tu corporeis
anima haud retinenda catenis,
Libera quae letho perrumpis
claustra sepulchri,
Sublimi spectes etiam nunc
lumine mundum,
Sideraque, et longo fulgentes
limite soles:
Haec tua sunt: toto hoc
quondam versaberis orbe
Devia, et in cunctis pandes
regionibus alas.
Erroris fugient nebulae; fatique
licebit
Explorare vias, unumque per
omnia Numen.
Barbarus evictis referat Sesostris
ab Indis
Signa; triumphanti se jactet
in axe Philippus,
Laeteturque suum spectans
Octavius orbem:
Te majora manent: nullis
obnoxia curis
Regna petis, domitaque nitet
victoria morte.
DIVI PAULI CONVERSIO.
Humentes abiere umbrae, et
jam lampada opaco
Extulit Oceano Phoebus, noctemque
fugavit;
Jamque, brevem excutiens somnum,
rapit arma Sauelus,
Ingrediturque iter; hunc denso
circum undique ferro
Agmina funduntur, strictisque
hastilibus horret
Omne solum, et tremulus telorum
it ad aethera fulgor.
Corripuere viam celeres:
jamque alta Damasci
Maenia cernuntur, raraeque
ex aequore turres.
Laetatur spectans, immensaque
pectore versat
Funera, sanguineumque videt
fluere undique rivum,
Invisamque una gentem miscere
ruina
Posse putat: summa veluti
de rupe leaena
Sopitas prospectat oves, ubi
plurima toto
Incumbit nox campo, illunemque
aethera condit.
Haud aliter furit, et flammantia
lumina torquens
Talia voce refert: “Magni
regnator Olympi,
Ultricem firma dextram, justoque
furori
Annue, et ipse novam spira
in mea pectora flammam.
Robora da gladiis insueta,
adde ignibus iras,
Sic ego templa tua et sacros
spernentia ritus
Pectora confundam; fausto
sic numine laetus
Relliquias vincam sceleris:
vastam ipse ruinam
Aspicies, pater, et stellanti
summus ab arce
Accipies gemitus morientum,
et fulmine justum
Confirmabis opus: laetabitur
aethere toto
Sancta cohors, magnique ibunt
longo ordine patres
Visuri exitium, et pravorum
fata nepotum!”
Dixerat; interea
medium Sol attigit orbem,
Et totum jubar explicuit:
quum creber ad auras
Auditur fragor, et volucres
per inania coeli
Hinc atque hinc fugiunt nubes:
dant flumina murmur
Insolitum, vastaeque tremunt
sine flamine sylvae.
Obstupuere omnes: subito
quum lumine nimbus
Signat iter coelo, et radiis
totum aethera complet:
Collesque fluviique micant,
pulsisque tenebris
Laetantur sylvae: veluti
quum Luna coruscam
Extendit per aperta facem.
Sacer erubuit Sol,
Agnovitque Deum, densisque
recessit in umbris.
Attoniti siluere viri, manibusque
remissis
Sponte cadunt tela: insolito
ferus ipse timore
Diriguit ductor, stravitque
in pulvere corpus.
Quum subito nova vox, mille
haud superanda procellis,
Excidit, et juveni trepidantia
pectora complet:
“Quo gressus,
vesane rapis? quaeve effera menti
Impulit infandum dementia
inire laborem,
Et gentes vexare pias?
Huc flecte superbos,
Huc oculos; ego sum, quem
vana fraude lacessis,
Tartarei domitor regni, prolesque
Tonantis.
Flecte viam ventis, mota quate
littora dextra,
Siste maris cursum, aut medio
rape sidera coelo;
Non tamen hoc facies; neque
enim gens concidet unquam
Nostra, nec humani patietur
damna tumultus.
Caede Deo tandem, et caeptos
compesce furores.”
Tum vero ingenti
pressus formidine mentem
Intremuit juvenis, rupitque
has pectore voces:
“Cedo equidem, victusque
abeo: tu, maxime rerum,
Suffice consilia, atque errantes
dirige gressus.
Immanes fugere animi, et qua
ducis eundum est.
Sit modo fas te, Christe,
sequi!” Nec plura locuto
Intonuere poli, et mediam
inter fulgura vocem
Audiit: “Infaustos
animis depone timores,
Vicinamque urbem et celsae
pete tecta Damasci.
Ipse adero, rerumque oculis
arcana recludam.
Eia age, carpe viam, et permissis
utere fatis.”
Hoc Deus, et sese
nubis caligine septum
Claudit inaccessa; tellus
tremit, et sonat aether,
Terque per attonitos vibrantur
fulmina campos.
Jamque novae exierant flammae,
et Sol redditus orbi:
Assistunt Domino turmae, gelidamq.
resurgens
Linquit humum Saulus:
sed non redit ossibus ardor,
Non oculis lumen; subitis
exterrita monstris
Haud aliter juveni stupuerunt
pectora, quam cum
Fulmina si flammis straverunt
forte bisulcis
Coniferam pinum, aut surgentem
in sidera quercum,
Agricola exsurgit conterritus,
et pede lustrat
Exustum nemus, et pallentes
sulphure campos.
Explorat late noctem, caecosq.
volutat
Hinc atq. hinc oculos, et
ab omni nube Tonantes
Expectat vocem. Interea
regione viarum
Progreditur nota, et Syriam
defertur ad urbem:
Non, oriens qualem nuper Sol
viderat, acri
Quin etiam, ut
perhibent, animam sine corpore raptam
Flammifero alati curru avexere
ministri,
Ad superasq. domos, et magni
tecta Parentis
Fulmineae rapuere rotae:
medio aethere vectus
Miratur sonitum circumvolventis
Olympi,
Sideraq., et rutilo flagrantes
igne Cometas;
Inde cavi superans flammantia
maenia mundi,
Elysias spectat sedes, et
casta piorum
Regna, ubi caerulea vestitus
luce superbit
Late aether, aliis ubi fulgent
ignibus astra,
Atq. alii volvunt laetantia
saecula Soles:
Et puro cernit volitantes
aere Manes,
Quos rutila cingit jubar immortale
corona,
Oblitas terrarum animas, venerabile
vulgus.
Tertia jamq. diem
expulerat nox humida caelo,
Et medios tenuit per vasta
silentia cursus:
Caesarie subito et vitta venerabilis
alba
Visus adesse senex, talesq.
effundere voces:
“Surge, age, nate:
tibi nam vitae certa patescit
Semita, teque Deus coelo miseratus
ab alto est.
Ipse ego, quae tristes hebetant
caligine visus,
Eripiam nubes, exoptatumq.
revisent
Solem oculi.” Divina
haec talia voce loquentem
Involvere umbrae, tenuisq.
refugit imago,
Excutiturq. sopor. Nova
dum portenta renarrat,
Auditasq. refert voces; fugit
aequora currus
Solis, et ignotus tacitum
subit advena limen,
Compellatq. viros: eadem
alta in fronte sedebat
Majestas, isdemq. albebant
crinibus ora.
Agnovit vocem juvenis; nam
caetera nigrae
Eripuere oculis tenebrae.
Tum talibus Annas
Aggreditur senior: “Patriae
te, Saule, petitum
Linquo tuta domus, ac mille
pericula ferri
Invado, saevumque adeo imperterritus
hostem.
Nam, qui te medio errantem
de tramite vertit,
Imperat ipse Deus, perq. alta
silentia noctis
Ingeminat mandata monens.
Nunc accipe lucem
Amissam, munusq. Dei.
Nec plura locutus
Pallentes oculos dextra premit:
atra fugit nox
Coelestes tactus, aciemq.
effusa per omnem
Irruit alma dies: primi
nova lumina Solis
Haurit inexpletum, et fugientia
sidera lustrat.
Sed major puro accendit divina
calore
Lux animos, atq. exsultantia
pectora complet.
Ante oculos nova se rerum
fert undique imago:
Exsurgit tandem,
rumpitq. silentia voce:
“AEterni salvete ignes!
salve aurea nostris
Reddita lux oculis! Tuq.
O, qui primus inane
Rupisti, et varia jussisti
effervere flamma,
Adsis nunc, pater, et placidus
tua numina firmes.
Da mihi vitai casus, saevosq.
labores
Perferre, et cunctis tua nomina
pandere terris,
Magne parens! et quum gelidis
inamabilis alis
Summa dies aderit, tardae
praenuntia mortis,
Cunctanti adspires animo,
justosq. timores
Imminuas, ducasq. animam in
tua regna trementem!”
Vix ea fatus erat;
per nubes ales apertas
Devolat aetherio demissus
ab axe satelles,
Alloquiturq. virum, placidoq.
haec incipit ore:
Macte nova, Isacide,
virtute; opus excipe magnum;
Afflatuq. Dei et praesenti;
numine fortis
Perge, viamq. rape invictam
per littora mundi.
Non tumidum mare, non saevi
violentia belli,
Nec populi rabies, circumq.
volantia tela,
Immotos quatient animos; sacrum
omnia vincet
Auxilium, et praesens favor
omnipotentis Olympi.
Graia tibi excussa cedet Sapientia
crista,
Ore tuo devicta; trement regna
excita late
Cecropis, et vario splendentia
numine templa.
Te maesti aeterno reboantia
murmure ponti
Agnoscent Melitae saxa, et
quae pulcher Orontes
Arva secat, fluvioq. vigens
Tiberinus amaeno,
Et vix Ausonium passura Britannia
regnum.
Audiet Ionii littus maris,
atq. ubi fluctus
AEgaei sonat, atq. ubi turbidus
Hellespontus
Saevit, et angusta populos
interstrepit unda.
O nimium dilecte Deo, cui
concidit ingens
Oceani fragor, et rabidae
silet ira procellae,
Pacatusq. cadit, infecto vulnere,
serpens.
Perge, atq. immensum laudes
diffunde per orbem.
Per freta, per flammas, per
mille pericula, vade
Impavidus; miseros refice,
atq. petentibus almam
Da requiem populis; animam
pater ipse, laborum
Defunctam, Christumq. pari
jam morte secutam
Excipiet, caeloq. novum decus
inseret alto.
Coelestis Sapientia. HOR.
Qualem in profundi gurgitibus maris
Undaeque, ventique, et scopuli graves
Nautam lacessunt, et trisulca
Quae volitat per inane flamma,
Quum nulla amicis dat pharon ignibus
Fortuna; dum Nox signa per horridas
Diffundat auras, et benigna
Luna face imminuat tenebras:
Sic prima caecam gens hominum tulit
Ignara vitam: regna nec Elysi
Novere nec valles opacas
Tartareae timuere sedis;
Non spes futuri, non reverentia
Coelestis aulae; culpa piaculis
Vacavit, Eleique luci
Fatidicae siluere frondes:
Donec reclusa caelicolum domo,
Jussu parentis, dicitur huc cohors
Venisse Musarum, capillos
Castalia redimita lauro,
Sacramque qui Delum et Pataram regit,
Cyrrhaeque turres: increpuit lyram
Thalia, divinoque canta
Tristia personuere regna;
Quo bruta tellus, quo volucres vagae, et
Dura improbarum pectora tigridum,
Regesque, bellanterque turmae
Insolita tacuere cura.
Informe primum vox cecinit Chaos,
Terrasque natas, Iaepeti et genus
Infame, Phlegraeamque pugnam,
Et triplici data jura mundo:
Panduntur arcana, et Superum domus,
Virtusque, legesque, et ratio boni,
Oraeque Cocyti dolentis,
Et placidae loca amoena Leuces.
O, quae coruscam concutis aegida,
Frangens tyrannorum arma minacium,
Regina Pallas, dona nobis
Caelicolum inviolata serva,
Quam misit aeterni arbiter aetheris
Terras in omnes, ut Sapientiae
Accensa duraret per aevum
Stella, nec in tenebras abiret!
Te novit Argos, cultaque divitis
Sedes Corinthi; Cecropias modo
Turres et Ilissi colebas
Pascua, floriferosque saltus;
Nunc Martialis maenia Romuli,
Et regna Tuscis subdita montibus;
Nunc arva terrarum remota, et
AEquorei scopulos Britanni.
Tu, Diva, rerum detegis ordinem;
Gaudesque primis nubila gentibus
Obducta, nulli pervia astro,
Et Stygia graviora nocte
Rupisse. Frustra dissociabile
Objecit atrox Oceani fretum
Neptunus, insanique rauco
Turbine confremuere fluctus:
Vicit furentes, te duce, navita
Ventosque, et undas, clanstraque saxea
Perrupit, extremumque mundi
Impavidus penetravit axem.
NOTES ON GUSTAVUS VASA.
I have prefixed to this fragment the title of Epic Poem, though epic poems are growing out of fashion; because, in the structure, plan, and metre, the heroic model is followed. My authorities for facts, dates, and characters, are Vertot and Puffendorff. The latter I have only read in an English translation, dated 1702: the former I quote from a small Amsterdam edition, printed for Stephen Roger, in 2 vols. 1722.
Line 3.
—— her papal rites efface.
Gustavus, by his prudent and vigorous measures, effectually abolished Popery in Sweden, and established the disciples and doctrine of Luther.
9, 10.
And at whose feet, when Heaven
his toils repaid,
His brightest wreaths the
grateful Hero laid.
Many have attributed the efforts which Gustavus made use of to deliver his country, to ambition, and a desire of reigning. Yet, since his elevation produced much good to Sweden, and no evil, it is surely allowable, if not just, to attribute them to a purer motive: at any rate, a poet is at liberty to set his hero’s character in the fairest light he can, consistently with history.
14.
By Treachery’s axe her slaughter’d senate bled.
Alluding to the celebrated massacre of Stockholm. For an account of it, see notes on the Third Book.
15.
And her brave chief was numbered with the dead.
Steen Sture, Poetice Stenon, was the son of Suante Sture, administrator of Sweden, who reduced John the Second of Denmark to conclude a treaty with him, and who is greatly extolled by historians for the extraordinary spirit, skill, and moderation, with which he governed a turbulent kingdom for many years. Sture, though a young man, was admitted his successor, being duly elected on the 21st of July, 1513, after a violent struggle with his competitor, Eric Trolle, the senator, which laid the foundation of the enmity between him and Gustavus Trolle, the famous Primate of Sweden. On that prelate’s arrival from Rome, however, he welcomed him to his see, and behaved to him in the most courteous manner. This behaviour was repaid by Trolle with almost open hostility; but the young administrator had spirit enough to resist his encroachments. Arcemboldi, the Pope’s Legate, and merchant of indulgences, when passing through Sweden, in execution of his gainful office, was well received by Sture, who encouraged him in his exactions, from a political motive, and even exempted him from the duty which former venders of indulgences had been accustomed to pay to the Kings and Governors of Sweden. In the war commenced by Christiern the Second against Sweden, he signalized his courage and military talents on many occasions, and was killed in an engagement with Otho Crumpein’s army, near Bogesund in East Gothland.
Inferior to his father as an Administrator, he appears to have equalled him only in courage and the art of war. He was one of those men who are born to adorn, though not defend, a declining state: and, in the words of the French writer, was “fitter to command a party, than govern an empire.” His death happened in the beginning of 1519.
18.
—— ruthless Christiern ——
Christiern the Second was perhaps the worst king that ever disgraced the Danish throne. It is difficult to find any thing estimable or admirable in his character; he had neither the moderation of a Pisistratus, the talents of a Caesar, nor the political prudence of an Augustus. He succeeded his father John in 1512, and declared war against Sweden, in which he was assisted by Trolle. Having made a descent on the coast, he was repulsed by Steen Sture, and reduced to extremities. Wishing to treat with Sture, he demanded hostages for his safety; some of the principal nobles were sent to him in that quality, and among them Gustavus Vasa. With these he immediately sailed away, and on his return, confined them in the castle of Copenhagen, excepting Gustavus, who was committed to the custody of Eric Banner. He made a second attack upon Sweden, and, after the death of Steen Sture, was crowned King of Sweden. Under false pretences, he put to death the whole Swedish senate, and exercised innumerable barbarities on the townsmen and peasants. (Puffendorff, passim.) Being afterwards expelled from Denmark by his uncle Prince Frederick, and from Sweden by Gustavus Vasa, after many fruitless attempts to regain possession of either kingdom, he was at last seized by Frederick, August 2, 1532, and confined in the Castle of Coldinger, where he died some years after.
27.
’Twas morn, when Christiern, &c.
This poem begins in January, 1521, immediately before the introduction of Gustavus in the assembly of Mora.
41.
—— Upsal’s haughty Prelate ——
Gustavus Trolle, son of Eric the rival of Steen Sture, was sent when young to Rome (where it is supposed he learned the art of political finesse), and was there consecrated Archbishop of Upsal by Leo the Tenth. On his return to Sweden, he treated with great haughtiness Steen Sture, who came to congratulate him on his elevation. He joined in Christiern’s attempts on Sweden, and, being convicted of treason by the assembled Swedish States, retired from his archiepiscopal throne to a monastery. On the successes of Christiern, however, he quitted his retirement, and, regardless of his oaths of abdication, resumed his former office. His forcible deposition was one of the pretexts for the massacre of Stockholm. He opposed Gustavus Vasa in his patriotic endeavours, and once circumvented the hero with a troop of Danes, so that he narrowly escaped with his life. Vasa, however, soon retorted the same stratagem on his enemy; and he was at last obliged to retire into Denmark, where he with difficulty escaped death from the resentment of his master. A wound, received in an engagement with the troops of Christiern the Third, terminated the existence of one of the most restless caballers, and most accomplished statesmen, of his time.
119.
Otho.
Otho Crumpein, one of the most celebrated generals of the North, was employed by Christiern in his war with Steen Sture, and gained many signal victories over the Danes; and afterwards, by his master’s orders, invested Stockholm. He was at length removed to Denmark by the tyrant, who was jealous of his talents.
191.
Ernestus.
Ernestus and Harfagar are fictitious characters. Puffendorff, however, reports that Steen Sture was killed by the treachery of one of his confidential friends.—The hint of the vision, l. 281-311, is taken from Lucan.
335.
Brask’s proud genius.
Brask, Bishop of Lincoping, was secretly a partisan of Christiern’s, and escaped the massacre of Stockholm by an artful contrivance. When the order for Trolle’s arrest was signed by the Senate and Bishops, at the instigation of Steen Sture, he added his name to the rest, but secretly slipped under the seal a note, declaring his dissent: of this he informed Christiern, when under the edge of the axe. On Gustavus’s insurrection, he at first remained neutral: afterwards, being besieged in his castle by Gustavus, he came over to him. But his invincible obstinacy and factious disposition were a great obstacle to Gustavus in the introduction of Lutheranism into his kingdom.
336.
Bernheim.
Bernheim is a fictitious character.
337.
Theodore.
Theodore, Archbishop of Lunden, is thus characterized by Vertot:
“L’Archeveque de Lunden avoit beaucoup de part dans sa confiance. C’etoit un homme de basse naissance, sans erudition, et meme sans habilete; mais savant dans l’art d’inventer de nouveaux plaisirs, et qui en connoissoit egalement tous les secrets et les assaisonnemens. Il etoit redevable de sa faveur et de son elevation a Sigebritte (the well-known mistress of Christiern): elle l’avoit d’abord introduit a la cour pour lui servir d’espion: il passa ensuite tout d’un coup (here we must suspect some exaggeration), par le credit de cette femme, de la fonction de Barbier du Prince a la dignite d’Archeveque, et il se maintint dans sa faveur en presentant a Christierne des plaisirs qu’il savoit accommoder a son gout.” P. 108, 109, Amst. ed.
Christiern, having first employed Theodore in an official commission, appointed him Administrator of Sweden in his absence. On the news of the Swedish rebellion, that prelate, fearful of losing the ample opportunities he now possessed of indulging his voluptuousness and rapacity, sent an immediate express to his master, who ordered him to assemble his army, and attack the insurgents. In conformity to these orders, he occupied an advantageous post on the banks of the river Brunebec: Gustavus was on the opposite side, and he intended to dispute the passage with him. But, through natural cowardice, or a sudden fit of alarm, he quitted his station, like Hector; and flying for safety from one fortress to another, was at last obliged, like Trolle, to take refuge in Denmark.
371.
The factious souls, &c.
While Christiern was exercising his cruelty towards the Swedes, the Danish nobility, offended at his usurping absolute power, combined against him under the auspices of Prince Frederic, and finally succeeded in expelling him from Denmark. The rebellion began in Jutland.
429.
Their strong and persevering bands explore, &c.
Such is the character usually given of the inhabitants of Daelarne or Dalecarlia.
Line 300.
So to the town, &c.
Klopstock, Book 3.
425, &c.
This passage may remind the reader of Burns’s
vest of Coila, in his
“Vision, Duan First.” The resemblance
was unintentional.
475, 6.
Slanderers of Heaven, &c.
The character here given of the Romish Bishops of Sweden at the time of the grand revolution, is supported by the historical accounts of Trolle, Brask, and others.
479, 480.
—— and protecting
Peace,
Thro’ a long age, bid
battle’s trumpet cease.
Gustavus was disturbed during the first years of his reign, by the restless machinations of Christiern and Trolle: but from 1532 to 1560, when he died (Sept. 29), the kingdom enjoyed a profound peace. The same may be said of the earlier part of his son Eric’s reign.
537.
The mighty seraph ceas’d ——
This speech, and the whole intervention of the Guardian Genius of Sweden, is introduced in order to elevate the subject, by ascribing the calamities of Sweden to a supernatural arm, and by giving, as it were, a divine direction to the sword of Gustavus. Its more immediate use is to bring about the main design of the poem, by persuading Gustavus to relinquish his design of self-banishment, and renew his patriotic efforts.
544, 545.
Th’ angelic Power his
sacred arm applied
To push the vessel o’er
the yielding tide—
Virg. AEn. 10.
584.
Norbi.
Soren Norbi (Gallice Severin), one of the most renowned adherents of Christiern, was employed by him on many occasions, during the war with Steen Sture. It was by his intercession that Christina, the widow of that Governor, was saved from death. According to Vertot, he wished to marry her, and, by the means of her influence and his master’s unpopularity, procure himself elected Administrator. He also concealed many Swedish gentlemen from the rage of Christiern. He defeated the generals of Gustavus in their first attempt upon Stockholm, and afterwards routed one of that hero’s armies in Finland. But his fleet was at last burnt by the Lubeckers, under the command of Gustavus, and he was compelled to retire to Gothland, where he purposed to erect an independent kingdom of his own. This design being defeated, he continued to harass Gustavus and the Lubeckers in various ways, ’till they at length expelled him from Sweden. He now collected his remaining forces, and retreated to Narva, where he was seized and imprisoned by the Russians. After remaining some time in confinement, he was at length released at the instance of Charles the Fifth of Germany, in whose service he died, at the siege of Florence. According to Puffendorff, his death happened in 1539.
Line 7.
—— sulphurous
showers
Bursting on Calicut’s
perfidious towers.
Lusiad, Book 8.
24.
My first bold task ——
See Preface.
40.
Before him wide the dark-browed forests frown’d—
According to Pinkerton, forests are frequent in Dalecarlia. This remark seemed necessary, to obviate the objection against placing woods in a mineral soil.
92.
Gustavus.
Gustaf Wase, or Gustavus Vasa, was the son of Eric Vasa, governor of Halland, and was cousin-german to Steen Sture. Being the grand nephew of King Canutson, he was descended from the ancient kings of Sweden. Before his confinement by Christiern, he was one of the moving springs of the state; he assisted Sture with his counsels, which were bold and judicious, and gained a signal victory over the Danes. Christiern, receiving him as a hostage, caused him to be arrested and carried him to Denmark, where, by the request of Eric Banner, he was entrusted to the care of that nobleman. From his custody, however, he soon escaped, and traversed the various provinces of Sweden, in hopes of exciting at least some of them to assert their independence. His efforts, however, surprising and unwearied as they were, did not avail, ’till he arrived in the remote province of Dalecarlia. His unexpected appearance there among the peasants excited the whole province to revolt, and an army, assembled in haste, stormed the Governor’s castle, and destroyed the greater part of the garrison. After this beginning, his successes gradually increased, and Angermanland, Helsingland, Gestricia, and other governments almost immediately came over to his party. He sustained a war against the whole powers of Christiern for some years in a most skilful and indefatigable manner, and succeeded at last in expelling Christiern, Trolle, and Norbi, from the land of which he was now elected monarch. A task, scarcely less difficult, remained—to extirpate the Catholic religion from Sweden. This he effected, and established Lutheranism on so firm a basis, that it has resisted all attempts to shake it. After a long and really glorious reign, he was succeeded by his son Eric the Fourteenth, in 1560. In him were combined all the qualities necessary to constitute a hero; he was enterprising, vigilant, proof against pleasures, brave, prudent, and generous. He erected Sweden to a degree of power and respectability unknown before, and laid the foundation for the victories of Gustavus Adolphus and Charles the Twelfth. For the particular events of his life and reign, see Vertot, Puffendorff, the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and most modern histories.
128.
How Haquin triumph’d, or how Birger fell—
Haquin and Birger were common names among the earlier kings of Sweden.
135.
—— the Mistress of the Northern Zone.
Margaret, who united the three northern kingdoms, and whose empire, like Alexander’s, did not long survive after the death of its founder.
138.
—— the thirteenth Eric.
The successor of Margaret. He is called the thirteenth by Vertot, though according to other accounts he was but the tenth or eleventh.
198.
’Twas then, when, &c.
The Massacre of Stockholm, as it is commonly called, happened on the 8th of November, 1520. Of this almost unparalleled act of baseness and cruelty, Vertot (p. 113, 114, 115, Amst. ed.) gives the following account, from Zigler, who was an eye-witness, and many other authors of credit. The pretext for this execution was the demolishing of Stecka, a castle belonging to the traitor Trolle, which the Swedish States had ordered to be rased, contrary to the bull of Leo the Tenth.
“Le nouveau Roi fit ensuite inviter tout ces Seigneurs a une fete magnifique qu’il fit dans le chateau, pour marquer la joie de son avenement a la couronne. Le Senat en corps, et ce qu’il y avoit de Seigneurs de la premiere noblesse, a Stocolme, ne manquerent pas de s’y rendre: ce ne fut pendant les deux premiers jours que festins, que jeux, que plaisirs; Christierne affectoit des manieres pleines de bonte et de familiarite; il sembloit qu’on eut enseveli dans la bonne chere la haine et l’aversion que les deux parties avoient fait paroitre si long-tems l’une contre l’autre; tout le monde s’abandonnoit tranquillement a la joie, lors que, le troisieme jour, les Suedois furent tires de cet exces de securite, d’une maniere bien funeste.”
He then proceeds to relate the proceedings of the Danish Monarch against the Nobility, in the way of accusation, by means of his ministers the Danish Bishops, and the Pope’s Bull; and having described their pleas, &c. thus continues:
“Ce Prince sortit ensuite de l’Assemblee, comme s’il cut voulu laisser la liberte aux commissaires de deliberer: mais en meme tems on vit entrer une troupe de soldats de ses gardes, qui arretoient la veuve de l’Administrateur (Christina), les Senateurs, les Eveques meme, et tout ce qui se trouva de Seigneurs et de Gentilshommes Suedois dans le chateau.
“Les Eveques Danois, commissaires du Pape, commencerent a instruire leur proces comme a des heretiques, et comme s’ils eussent ete en pays d’inquisition; mais la procedure etant trop longue pour des gens qui etoient deja condamnes, Christierne, dans la crainte qu’il ne se fit quelque revolte en leur faveur, leur envoya des bourreaux sans autre formalite, pour leur annoncer qu’il falloit mourir.
“Le huitieme de Novembre fut destine pour leur supplice; on entendit des le matin des trompettes et des herauts de la part du Prince, qui defendoient a qui que ce fut de sortir de la ville, sous peine de la vie: toutePage 80
la garrison etoit sous les armes: il y avoit des corps de garde aux portes, et dans toutes les places. Le canon pret a tirer etoit dans la grande place, la bouche tournee contre les principals rues; tout le monde etoit dans une profonde consternation; ou ne savoit a quoi aboutiroient ces mouvemens extraordinaires, lorsque sur le midi ou vit ouvrir les portes du chateau, et, au travers de deux files de soldats, des illustres prisonniers, la plupart encore avec les marques de leur dignite, conduits a la mort par des bourreaux.
“Si-tot qu’ils furent arrives au lieu de leur supplice, un officier Danois lut tout haut la bulle du pape, comme l’arret de leur condemnation, et il ajouta que dans le chatiment des coupables, le Roi ne faisoit rien que par l’ordonnance des commissaires apostoliques, et que suivant le conseil de l’Archeveque d’Upsal. Les Eveques condamnes, et les autres prisonniers, demanderent avec instance des confesseurs; mais Christierne leur refusa cette consolation avec beaucoup d’inhumanite, soit que ce Prince trouvat un rafinement de vengeance a etendre son ressentiment sur les choses de l’autre vie, ou qu’il ne voulut pas qu’on traitat en Catholiques des gens qu’on venoit de condamner comme heretiques: il sacrifia par la meme politique ses amis et ses partisans, pour n’etre pas soupconne d’avoir fait perir ses ennemis: toute l’ardeur et tout le zele que les Eveques de Stregnez et de Scara avoient fait paroitre pour ses interets, ne purent les exempter de la mort, la qualite de Senateurs leur couta la vie, et la signature qu’ils avoient mise a la condamnation de l’Archeveque avec les autres Senateurs, fut la pretexte de leur supplice.”
(He mentions here the stratagem of Bishop Brask, related in a former note.)
“On executa ensuite” (i.e. after the execution of the Bishops) “tous les Senateurs seculiers: on commenca par Eric Vasa, pere de Gustave; les Consules et les Magistrats de Stocolme, et quatre-vingt quatorze Senateurs, qui avoient ete arretes dans le Chateau, eurent la meme destinee.
“Le Roi n’apprit qu’avec un violent chagrin qu’on n’avoit pu faire perir quelques Seigneurs qu’il avoit proscrits particulierement, et qu’on croyoit qu’ils etoient caches dans la ville. La crainte qu’ils n’echappassent, et l’esperance de decourrir la retraite de Gustave, qu’il soupconnoit d’etre cache dans Stocolme, lui fit confondre les innocens avec les coupables. Il abandonna la ville a la fureur de ses troupes: les soldats se jetterent d’abord sur le peuple qui etoit accoura a ce triste spectacle: ils frappoient et ils tuoient indifferemment tous ceux qui etoient assez malheureux pour se rencoutrer a leur chemin: ils passerent ensuite dans les meilleurs maisons de la ville, sous pretexte de chercher Gustave et les autres proscrits; ils poignardoient les bourgeois jusque dans les bras de leur femmes; les maisons furent mises au pillage, et la pudicite des femmes et des filles exposee a la brutalite des soldats. Rien ne fut epargue que la laideur et la pauvrete: tout le reste devint la proie du soldat furieux, qui, sous les ordres et a l’exemple de son souverain, se faisoit un merite de sa fureur et de son emportement.”
236.
And strive which first shall see the morn arise—
All the transactions recorded in the Third Book are supposed to have taken place on the evening and night preceding the annual festival of Dalecarlia, a day so memorable in Swedish history.
364.
And icy Meler blush’d with civil gore.
A most bloody engagement took place in 1464, on the lake Meler, when frozen over, between Bishop Catil and the partizans of the twice deposed Canutson. The Bishop was victorious.
371.
Suante.
See the account of Steen Sture, in the note on line 15 of the First Book.
406.
His patriot spirit entered in my breast.
My precedent for this is Lucan, who says of the soul of Pompey,
—— in sancto
pectore Bruti
Sedit, et invicti posuit se
mente Catonis.
Lib. ix. l. 17.
433.
—— we are
still forgot,
And harmless poverty is still
our lot.
Gustavus appeared in a public assembly of the Sudermanian Peasants, and exhorting them to revolt, was repulsed with the following answer: “We want neither salt nor herrings under the reign of the King of Denmark, and another King could not give us more: besides, if we take arms against so great a Prince, we shall unavoidably perish.” The Swedish peasantry, however, soon felt that the cruelty and tyranny of Christiern were something more than a mere report.
460.
Imperial Charles, &c.
“Charles-Quint entroit dans les interets du Roi de Danemarck avec une chaleur que la seule alliance ne produit guere entre les potentats. On pretend que ce prince, le plus ambitieux de son siecle, n’avoit accorde la princesse sa soeur a Christierne, qu’a condition qu’il le reconnoitroit pour son successeur aux couronnes du Nord, en cas qu’il mourat sans enfans. Cette succession etoit une piece importante au dessein de la monarchiae universelle: on sait assez que ce fut l’idole et la vision de ce Prince.” P. 110, Amst. ed.
489.
Ere Freedom light again her once extinguished ray.
I beg leave to quote the animated lines of Lord Byron:
A thousand years scarce serve
to form a state:
An hour may lay it in the
dust: and when
Shall man its shatter’d
vigour renovate,
Recal its glories back, and
vanquish Time and Fate?
539.
My spirit breath’d a purer prayer to thee—
Alluding to his profession of Lutheranism, which he probably embraced while in Steen Sture’s army.
564.
Scarce had he finish’d ——
The foregoing soliloquy is introduced for many reasons: first, to illustrate the character of the hero: secondly, to shew the difficulties which opposed, and were still destined to oppose, his memorable enterprize: thirdly, to account for his determination (Book ii. l. 509.) to leave his country: and, fourthly, to give the reader some idea of the prior calamities of Sweden, which are to be developed in a future book. These, and other motives, induced me to insert this soliloquy, which may appear rather long, but the prolixity of which the good-natured reader will excuse.
567.
Rush’d instantaneous ——
For the use of this word, I have many authorities in cattie:
Flowers instantaneous spring—
With instantaneous gleam,
illumed the vault of night—
An instantaneous change of
thought—&c.
PLAN
FOR THE
SEVEN NEXT BOOKS
OF
GUSTAVUS VASA.
The Supreme Being commands the Genius of Sweden to lull the Danish garrison of Dalecarlia into false security, to invigorate the drooping spirits of the Dalecarlians, and to assist and increase the army of Prince Frederic of Denmark by means of various rumours, &c.—The Genius dispatches a fiend to execute the first commission, while he hastens to perform the second.—Transition to Gustavus.—He finds his sword, but misses Ernestus, by means of a storm which the whirlwind had excited.—His reflections.—Taking shelter under the roof of a cottage; he there overhears a party of young men, with Adolphus at their head, exclaiming against the dilatory measures of the seniors, and resolving on more vigorous plans.—He joins them, without disclosing himself, and bids them report to the council, that a stranger will appear in the public assembly of Dalecarlia, the following day, and notify things which may influence their counsels.—He retires: Adolphus follows him unseen.—The youths, returning to the assembly, find their elders watching the event of an augury, mentioned in the Third Book.—Its process described—the result.—The young men announce their message.—Reflections of the Dalecarlians on it.—Gustavus meets Ernestus, and prepares to attack him, but is prevented by a miraculous sign.—The Genius of Sweden, after having revived the spirits of the Dalecarlians, passes to Denmark, where he influences the Danes to join the standards of Prince Frederic of Oldenburg.—Description of that Prince’s court, and of the state of Denmark.—The Genius returns through Sweden.—Account of what was passing there.
The Genius arrives at Mora.—Gustavus is convinced of the truth.—His reflections on the occasion.—He concludes a friendship with Ernestus.—He meets Adolphus, whom he recognizes as one of his former soldiers, and whom he dispatches to the Danish fortress, to observe the motions of the enemy.—They return to the house of the Priest of Mora, under whose protection Gustavus then remained, and relate the recent events.—The Curate’s reply.—They retire to rest.
The Dalecarlian convention described.—Their proceedings prior to the arrival of Gustavus among them.—He announces himself in the morning.—Their joy.—The augury miraculously fulfilled.—Gustavus takes measures to prevent the treacherous designs of some of the Dalecarlian tribes.—He is saluted king and general by the whole assembly.—They request him to relate his adventures.
Gustavus recounts the causes of the war, and its progress, prior to the capitulation of Stockholm; which will afford much room for detail. This narration is necessary, to acquaint the reader with what happened before the commencement of the action, and is therefore similar in design to the second and third AEneid, and the four narrative books of the Odyssey. Christiern, Steen Sture, Archbishop Trolle, Otho, Norbi, and other distinguished characters, will make a figure in this relation. The hero describes the massacre of Stockholm, from the account of an eye-witness of that catastrophe.—He enlarges on the death of his father Eric. Some reflections on this event may be introduced, in imitation of Lucan.—Fate of Gustavus’s wife and sister; whose death, and the intercession made by Christiern with Gustavus for their preservation, will afterwards form one of the principal episodes.—He then relates part of his numerous adventures in the different provinces of Sweden.
He continues his recital, and concludes with his arrival in Dalecarlia, and adventures there. He then exhorts them to assist in his patriotic design. (See his speech in Vertot.) The Dalecarlians applaud his harangue, which is also attended by favourable omens. A body-guard of 400 men is appointed him; Adolphus is chosen captain, having now returned, and disclosed the supineness and neglect of the Danish garrison. Gustavus declares his intentions of storming the castle; arranges the troops, and bids all be ready by midnight. They retire.
The proceedings of Christiern, Trolle, and Norbi, from the conclusion of Book 4, severally described.—Gustavus secretly dismisses the unfaithful tribes.—The Genius of Sweden appears to him in a dream; foretels his future exaltation, and the disgraceful end of Christiern and his party. He then shews him the reward of patriots in heaven.—Ancient Swedish kings and heroes.
He now shews him, “in a sort of Pisgah-sight,” as Pope expresses it, but on a new plan, the future history of Sweden: its wars, arts, manners, &c.—Gustavus Adolphus.—Christina.—Charles the Twelfth.—Puffendorff, Oxenstiern, Linnaeus, &c.—Part of the Danish history may be mentioned, as connected with that of Sweden.—Gustavas the Fourth.—Siege of Copenhagen by the English.—Bernadotte.—The Genius concludes with an exhortation, and directions for prosecuting the war.—Gustavus’s prayer.—The army described.—Their leaders.
Parting of the Dalecarlians with their kindred: briefly delineated, like the scene in the 5th Lusiad. Some episode may naturally be here introduced.—The Genius blows his angelic trumpet, as a prelude to the war: its effects.—The army of Gustavus, increased on its way by new multitudes, reaches the castle at midnight.—Negligence of the guard.—Gustavus, Ernestus, and Adolphus, signalize themselves. Valour of the Governor.—The fort is stormed.—General slaughter of the Danes by the incensed Dalecarlians.—Clemency of Gustavus to the Governor, and all he could save from the fury of his soldiers.—The tribes who had adhered to Christiern, send intelligence to Stockholm of the revolt.—Trolle, in the absence of Christiern, calls a council.
The action, from the council in Book 1, to the taking of the castle, in Book 10, occupies four days.
The remaining books, ten or fourteen in number, will be occupied with a detail of the long and various war waged by Gustavus against Christiern, and the poem will conclude with his coronation. Many events afford great scope for poetry; such as the hero’s constancy under his defeat by Trolle, his subsequent victory over that prelate, the adventures of Steen Sture’s widow, the death of Gustavus’s mother and sister, the burning of Norbi’s fleet, the coronation of Gustavus, &c.
1. Where, in the midst of vast infinitude, &c.
This is the conclusion of the 9th hook of the Messiah, where Obaddon, or Sevenfold Revenge, one of the angels of death, carries the Soul of Judas Iscariot to hell.
—— Where, in the midst, &c.
Orig. “Where God has set bounds to infinitude:” an expression authorized by Milton: “stood vast Infinitude confined.”
2. From Ida’s peak high Jove beheld, &c.
An intelligent person suggested to the author, that to compose a new version of Homer, in the style and measure of Scott’s Marmion, would be a feasible idea. He observed, that Scott’s style, and his circumstantial descriptions, bore much resemblance to those of Homer and that the rapid flow of Scott’s verse was happily accommodated to the swift succession of events, and fiery impetuosity of the Iliad; corresponding with the dactylic hexameter of the old poet. These hints induced the author to attempt the above translation.
3. Through these fair scenes, &c.
This description has been preferred to that of the fountain of Narcissus in Ovid. Crucius, Lives of the Roman Poets.
4. Quid nos Immerita, &c.
An ironical defence of piracy.
5. D. Pauli Conversio, 94. Quin etiam, ut perbibent, &c.
Alluding to his transportation into the third heaven.
—— 142. AEterni vulnera leti.
The scripture phrase “eternal death.”
—— 178. Britannia.
He is said by some to have passed into Britain.
—— 184. Pacatusque.
Alluding to the miracle on the coast of Melita.
J.G. BARNARD, SKINNER-STREET, LONDON.